


The Boy Who Fell Down The Stairs And Lived

by Fuchsgeist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 33,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuchsgeist/pseuds/Fuchsgeist
Summary: Harry can do weird things when he is afraid, angry, bored or in pain. When it gets too much, Harry blows up, runs away and gets adopted by a proud goblin.
Comments: 37
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains violence against children. The rest of this fiction will be a bit more light-hearted, but the first chapter is very graphic in its description of the abusive situation Harry is in. (No sexualised violence though)  
> Terfs gtfo JKR is Albus Dumbledore in my head-canon and Hatsune Miku wrote Harry Potter.

Harry was used to focusing on little things. It helped. When something was repetitive and dull, like scrubbing the floor and polishing door handles. But also when something hurt. Like Vernon's knuckles. 

Harry didn't like "falling down the stairs, he's so clumsy", as Petunia put it. Not by any means. Sometimes, though, when the silent pressure inside him accumulated to a splitting headache, he'd provoke Vernon just a little bit. Because pain was manageable. Vernon was, quite clearly, in the wrong here. Everyone knew you weren't supposed to hit children. (He knew it didn't  _ really  _ apply to freaks like him, deep down he knew. Even teachers at school knew he was  _ wrong  _ somehow. Most of them treated him halfway decent, some punished him for it. But they couldn't help the irrational feeling that the boy made their skin crawl)

And when Vernon yelled and beat him, sometimes, Harry could make the pattern on the curtains shift.

Sometimes, when the boredom in maths class became painful and the teacher yelled at him, he could change the ink on his homework. 

When he sat in his cupboard and pinched his thigh, he could make the dust look like animals. 

Once he had changed the colour of his fingernails. Aunt Petunia had nearly ripped his ear off after it. 

His small world became bigger when he focused on those little things. Dust. Curtains. Tiles. Spiders. Marks on his arms and thighs and stomach. He could even make the blue, green, purple look like pretty pictures. 

One day, Harry  _ fell down the stairs, stupid, clumsy boy  _ a little too hard. Uncle Vernon's belt broke his skin close to his kidneys. When Harry stumbled, for the first time, he actually fell. He passed out, a bloody mess. And the stairs exploded around him. Little splinters in Vernon's eyes, a crate around Harry. Harry woke up from Vernon Dursley's screams. 

Still feeling sluggish, he assessed the situation. Uncle Vernon was screaming on the top floor, bleeding from his eyes. Harry was downstairs. Petunia was picking Dudley up from his friend's house. And there were no stairs anymore. Harry thought about it for four whole minutes, while Vernon raged. Harry moved his limbs. He tried to stand up. He was able to walk. He closed his eyes. With everything he had, he wished to be somewhere else, where Vernon could not find him. And when he opened his eyes, he saw a neighbourhood that was most definitely not Privet Drive. Harry looked around. There was a very busy street in front of him. People were wearing strange clothing. Next to him, two adults were haggling over something that looked like a dead frog with overgrown legs and horns. Behind a lantern, there was a little dirty sign that said "Knockturn Alley".

  
  


A small man with pointy ears and a long nose looked at him and grinned. "Well, well, well, what have we here", he said.

"Nobody!", Harry said quickly, and looked at his feet. The man laughed. It sounded like barking. 

"Come with me, wizard. You look cold", he said. "I am Brogdrak."

Harry winced. He thought about his options. Could it get any worse? Could this man make it any worse? Probably not. So Harry took his weird looking hand and followed him.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

In the city under the city, the light was red and flickered. A young wizard with dark hair that was pulled into a braid,who once had needed glasses, rested against the wall of the blacksmith's storefront. Brogdrak narrowed his eyes at the green-eyed boy.

"Stand up straight, Harry. I will not let you slouch. A boy who can't keep his head held high will be perceived as a victim. Are you a victim, Harry?"

Harry stood up straight and lifted his chin.

"I am no victim."

Brogdrak grinned, in a way that would make a lot of adult human wizards shiver. There were a lot more sharp teeth in that mouth than fragile humans found bearable. 

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Harry, son of Brogdrak. I bow to no-one but the gods."

Harry answered, his voice strong, as he was taught to speak to a goblin. With wizards, the game was different. You had to figure out what you wanted them to think of you, and then mold yourself into what would get you the best results. Harry was quite good at it. He had a head start, of course, since he looked like one of them. And he could talk like them. His pronunciation in warketh, the goblin-tongue, (which the wizarding society referred to as Gobbledegook, which was more telling of the way they looked at goblins than goblin-culture) was no less perfect. Drilled into him by his father, he was careful to speak respectfully and to never butcher any words that his mouth was unaccustomed to pronounce.

Today was Harry's eleventh birthday, an occasion that nobody made a fuss about. Being born was an achievement for the person who delivered the child, not the child itself. Harry had a few things to celebrate once a year: (the goblin year worked it a bit differently than the human calendar, but nonetheless it corresponded well enough) the first time he had cooked barlatek to perfection, (a traditional dish that was famously hard to get right) the first time he had wielded his knife, the first time he had held an other goblin's hand. 

All of it were things Harry was proud of. His father no less, as Harry could tell by the smug way his eyes glimmered when he spoke of it.

Harry looked at his father, who silently handed him a letter. It was written in the Queen's English and addressed to "Harry Potter, Blordak Road 4, Goblinia, district 7" which, in and of itself, was drole to him. He had assumed the wizards did not know of his whereabouts and, if so, would address him as "Brogdrakson" or something like that. Harry opened the letter. It was, as Brogdrak had told him was a big probability before, his invitation to Hogwarts. It seemed standardized. 

"They wanted to come and get you. A human named Albus Dumbledore spoke to me. He was angry you were not where he left you. I told him how you found your way to me. He seems like a dangerous man", Brodak explained. 

"Is Gwyonarka coming to Hogwarts?", Harry asked. His best friend was half-witch, even though she grew up entirely goblin and had little patience for the intricacies of pronouncing the English words exactly as they were meant to be said. Harry sometimes envied her for the years she spent safely in Goblinia, when he still had to endure the Dursleys. Six years wasted with human scum.

"Talk to her about it. I don't know what she decided."

(Goblins did not make decisions for their children regarding life-altering events. They might suggest what they thought was the best path, but the ultimate decision had to be the child's) 

Harry nodded and thanked his father. Then, he headed to Gwyonarkas house. Instead of knocking on the door, he went straight up to her window and whistled. Gwyonarka, who was practicing runes, turned towards him and whistled back. It was their private joke. Non of the pure goblins could whistle, since their mouths didn't quite make the right sounds for it. (Also, most of their friends were not patient enough to actually try)

But Gwyonarka had a mostly human mouth with slightly sharper teeth, a very pointy nose, pointy ears and lovely black eyes. Her hair was nearly as long as Harry's, black and shiny, never a mess like his own. She was smaller than him, but stronger. A fact that she held over his head any chance she got.

"Hey, Gwyo, did you get your Hogwarts-letter?"

She shook her head. "My birthday is in two weeks."

The girl helped Harry through the window. He didn't really need the help, he could easily jump the distance, but he let her have her moment of chivalry.

"Will you go there?", Harry asked her, too excited to bother with any of their usual antics. 

"With you?", she asked and wiggled her nose. A quirk she had which Harry found adorable. 

"I haven't decided yet."

She smiled.

"Well I can't very well let you go without me, can I? Who knows what filthy human habits you adopt if there's no-one to protect you."

Harry scoffed. 

"I can protect myself just fine, thank you."

Gwyonarka laughed softly. 

"Yeah, right."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. 

"So, it's decided then. We go together or not at all."

Gwyonarka and Harry looked at each other in silent agreement. 

"Now get out, Harry. I have to finish my runes or mum will have my head."

Harry winked at her and jumped out the window again.


	3. Chapter 3

Blarko and Donark were disgruntled. 

"So you're leaving us for the weird, ugly humans?", Donark asked, frowning at Harry.

"I am one of the weird, ugly humans," Harry clarified. It wasn't really true, because his father was a goblin, but still.

Blarko snickered. 

"No, brother, you're just human shaped."

Harry shrugged. 

"I'm going with Gwyonarka."

Blarko wiggled his eyebrows. 

"Well she's not as hideous as you," Donark mumbled.

"We can't all look like you, Donark", Harry answered, the snark clearly lost on his friend.

The goblin boy preened his beautiful long ears.

"I guess not."

Blarko elbowed him.

"So, you're still coming home sometimes, right?", he asked Harry.

"Yes, for the human holidays. It's not like I'm gone forever. And I will write", he promised his brother. 

"You better write to me, too", Donark said and pouted a bit.

"Sure, pretty boy", Harry said and smirked. Donark stuck out his tongue, a gesture he had learned from Harry that didn't have the same connotations in goblin-culture.

"So, how is Sarka taking it?", Blarko asked. 

"Uh, she'll get over it." 

(Sarka,one of Gwyonarka's more possessive friends, would, in fact, not get over it.)

Blarko and Donark exchanged worried glances. 

"I'm going to Diagon Alley now. Getting wizard-things." 

"Wait, you're leaving now?", Blarko asked in a panicked voice. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm just getting my new stuff. Calm down", he answered. Blarko huffed.

Diagon Alley was bright and full of wizards. Harry kept close to Gwyonarka, even though he was not afraid. At all. Not even a bit intimidated. He held his head extra high.

Gwyonarka lifted a brow.

The protective girl took his hand and pulled him towards the wand shop. "Ugh, wooden sticks for witches. I guess I'll have to get one", she sighed.

Harry nodded. He was a bit curious, though. He had always had a slight disadvantage at doing magic. He could not control his core as well as Donark, Gwyonarka or Blarko. He had a lot of raw power, even for a goblin, but his precision was abysmal. Pain helped, but Brogdrak had forbidden him from using pain and stress as anchors for his magic. 

His friend entered the building, fierce as always. The shopkeeper nodded at her. 

"Hello, we would like to purchase two wood-sticks", Gwyo said in her raspy accent. Harry blushed.

"Well met, mister Olivander. We are Gwyonarka, daughter of Glaryk, and Harry, son of Brogdrak", Harry said, more mellow than her.

"Well met, miss Glaryk's daughter and mister Brogdrak's son", the man replied with an amused expression in his face.

Gwyonarka nodded. 

"Since you are half goblin,"

"Full goblin", Gwyonarka snarled.

"Oh?", mister Olivander raised his eyebrows. 

"Well in that case, I am sorry. The ministry of magic forbids me from selling wands to creatures."

Gwyonarka seethed with anger at his attitude. 

"I am goblin-raised, my mother's daughter through and through. I can get a silver stick instead of that wood you pluck, human. I don't know my human parent, but I would think less of my mother if he ever talked like you and still sired me, mister", she spat, murder on her face.

He blinked at her, owlishly. 

"I meant no offense."

Harry sighed. As cool as Gwyo was, her outbursts would not get her what she wanted. Her mother, just like her, was very direct and had a reputation of being a bit erratic. Harry was a bit scared of her. His father, though just as strict, was a bit more calculating and planned his subtle moves beforehand. Harry aimed to get what he wanted first and leave the revenge for later. His tolerance for pain and humiliation were quite high, which left him time to cool down and think.

"Sir. Would you please show us your wands, so that we can pick one and leave, swiftly?", Harry asked, his voice saccharine and false.

"The wand chooses the wizard, but we may start", mister Olivander replied and hummed.

"Whichever way", Harry replied. 

Olivander flicked his own wand, and a measuring tape flew towards him and Gwyo. It measured every conceivable surface of their bodies. Then it flew back into his hand. Olivander rummaged through a few drawers. 

He pulled out the first wand.

"Ebony, dragon heart-string. Eight inches!", mister Olivander said, and reached over the counter to give it to Harry.

The boy felt a strange surge of power when he touched the wand. His breath hitched.

"Give it a flick, boy", mister Olivander encouraged him.

Harry swished it through the air. A silver shape appeared. Harry willed it into a snake. 

With a satisfied smile in his face he turned to the very startled wandmaker.

"I'll take this one, please."

"I'd say!", mister Olivander replied in awe. 

Gwyonarka quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Human", she said affectionately. 

Then she took her silver hairpin out of her braids and transfigured it into something that looked like a wand.

"Will this pass as a wand at Hogwarts?", she asked a resigned looking Olivander.

He muttered something, took out a few strange looking tools and gave the hairpin a few prods with a thing that looked like a pair of tweezers and a spider had a baby.

"Interesting"

He tentatively touched the pin and broke out into barking laughter.

"What shall I say? I can not compete with this. Did you make the pin?", he asked Gwyo. She nodded in a very dignified manner, a bit soothed by his praise. 

After their brief visit at the wandmaker's shop, they went to Madame Malkin's to get their school robes fitted. A pale boy was already there, trying very hard to look bored, but obviously trained in keeping a good posture while doing so.

When he saw Gwyonarka, he paled slightly as he took in her slender build, her pointy ears and her clearly part-goblin features. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

Then he said "Hello, I am Draco Malfoy. Are you also getting school robes?", in a slightly breathless tone.

Gwyonarka took a look at him and gave him an aloof half-smile.

"Hello Draco. Well met. I am Gwyonarka, daughter of Glaryk."

Draco gave her a shy smile.

"Hi. I'm Harry. Son of Brogdrak. Well met. And yes, we are going to Hogwarts.", Harry said. He liked Draco's name. It could have been Warketh. 

"Are you goblin?", Draco asked in heavily accented Warketh.

"Yes, I am. It's nice to see that some humans speak Warketh", Gwyonarka said, sounding slightly impressed. Harry silently agreed, even though he felt a pang of jealousy. It would have been kind of nice to have a secret language with Gwyo.

"Will you practice with me at Hogwarts?", he asked both of them eagerly.

Harry nodded and Gwyo gave him her toothiest grin. Harry was not so pleased with her smiling at Draco like that, but well, he couldn't very well expect her to only smile at her friends like this. Draco seemed a bit bedazzled by it. 

The shopkeeper came in and flicked her wand. "Oh hello, little dears. I will be with you in a moment", she said in a slightly hectic way, two clothing pins in her mouth. 

She smiled at Draco. 

"Very good. You are done here. Your elves can pick up the rest of your robes in an hour."

The blonde nodded and said his goodbyes. Then he hurried outside to meet a tall, pretty woman with pale skin that looked as if she was his mother. 

"Now what can I do for you? A whole set of school robes? New or used?", Madame Malkin asked them.

"New, please", Harry and Gwyo answered in unison. 


	4. Chapter 4

Brogdrak, Blarko and Glaryk took Harry and Gwyonarka to King's Cross Station, all except Harry wearing glamours to look human, which amused Harry to no end. He contemplated what it would have been like to be brought there by the Dursleys. It was hard to even remember them sometimes. A lot of his earlier childhood memories seemed to be wrapped in fog nowadays.

Saying goodbye to his family was a silent affair for Harry. His father rested his forehead against Harry's for a whole minute. Blarko squeezed his hands. 

Glaryk and Gwyo looked more locked in a wrestling match with each other than exchanging hugs, but this was normal for them. When the two first years finally left to board the train, Blarko ran after them and gave Harry a silver bracelet. 

"This is better than just writing. It will warm when we think of each other at the same time."

"Thank you, you hopeless sap", Harry said. But he was very moved.

"I'll write anyway", he promised his brother.

"You better. Also, I am aware that this is sappy but it took me a long time to make, so you better think of me quite often."

Harry gave him the biggest smile. 

"Every time I see it."

Gwyonarka was fidgeting. "As cute as this is, we have to board the train, Harry!"

Blarko sighed.

"Bye Gwyo. Take care of him, yeah?"

The girl nodded conspiratorially.

Harry rolled his eyes. 

They got on the Hogwarts Express, their school-trunks floating comfortably close to them, and looked through the mostly full train to find a seat. Draco was in one of the compartments with two other boys and smiled when he saw Harry and Gwyonarka.

They entered. 

"Hello Draco", Gwyo greeted the boy.

"Hello Gwyonarka! Hey Harry! Good to see you again", Draco said in an exited voice. 

"These are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle", he introduced. 

The two boys (one of them, the Crabbe boy, looked a bit dull and also taken aback by Draco's friendly words) mumbled their greetings. 

"Hello. Harry Blordak's son. Well met", Harry said.

Gwyonarka introduced herself too, in the traditional way that she had been taught by her mother, and smiled at Draco again with way too much wattage. Crabbe glared at her. "Is he part troll?" Gwyo whispered to Harry in Warketh, and Harry tried very hard not to laugh. "You're mean. Is it even possible to be part troll?", he answered.

She shrugged. "There are half giants."

Draco looked at his friend's less than friendly mien and blushed a bit. 

They sat down, and a conversation began that was mainly Draco and Gwyonarka rapidly speaking about what would happen next. They discussed food, what the school looked like, which subjects sounded the most interesting, which school books they had already read, which books they had packed for pleasure reading and how pretty Draco's owl familiar was. 

"Do you know what house you'll be in?", Draco asked.

Harry had read about houses in "History of Hogwarts", a book that his father had made him read from cover to cover. The houses were, from his perspective, a bit presumptuous as a system for putting like-minded students together. It was tradition, and therefore he respected it, but apart from that, it seemed a bit silly. Also in the subtext of the book, it seemed like people made a lot of speculations about your character by house-affiliation, and that was laughable. It was like human astrology. Four types of people: brave do-gooders, manipulative meanies, bookworms, and benevolent simpletons. 

"I thought it was a surprise and you get told in some sort of ceremony?", Gwyonarka asked.

Draco nodded. "Yes, that's true. But unofficially, a lot of old magical families have a pattern of being sent to the same house. We Malfoys, as well as Crabbes and Goyles, have been Slytherins for centuries. Also, you might have a hunch which house fits you best."

"Let me guess your house, Gwyo. I think you're either a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, leaning towards Gryffindor", Harry said.

Gwyo rolled her eyes.

"You're  _ definitely  _ a Slytherin", she stated.

Harry shrugged. 

"I might be a Ravenclaw", he said, just to be contrary.

"No, you just read a lot because you want to use your knowledge to get what you want, not for the pursuit of knowledge itself."

"Fair."

"I hope you're both Slytherins, so we can be in the same house", Draco mumbled. 

"Yeah, also Gryffindors are all stupid and muggle-lovers. My dad told me", Crabbe added in an acidic tone.

Gwyonarka narrowed her eyes at him and gave him a toothy smile. 

"So, tell me, Crabbe, did your daddy tell you that wizards are the crown of creation?"

Crabbe scoffed. 

"Who else?"

Oh boy. Well, that was going to be interesting.

"Look, if you think being born as something is an achievement for anyone but the person who birthed you, that probably means you are not particularly  _ good  _ at anything else, so I don't know why I should waste my time speaking to you", Gwyonarka said and hummed.

Crabbe turned red. 

"I am too! Good at things, I mean!"

"Like what?", Harry asked, amused by the exchange. 

"Like beating you up if you can't keep your mouth shut!", Goyle said to rescue his friend, unaware of the grave mistake that it was to anger two Goblinians. 

Harry and Gwyonarka stood up and took a casual fighting stance. They had trained together a lot, and though Gwyonarka was undoubtedly stronger than Harry, and Harry not much of a physical challenge to most Goblins, they could both easily take Crabbe, Goyle and Draco. If he dared to intervene. Harry, though not the strongest of his goblin peers, was quick and had a high pain tolerance. Gwyonarka was small and wiry against Draco's friends, who both looked big for their age. But underestimating the girl was foolish. She was nothing but hardened muscle under her robes. Well. Muscle, pride, determination and skill. Gwyonarka growled. Goyle and Crabbe stood up, too 

Draco paled and frowned. In a voice that was more commanding than anything he had said to Harry and Gwyonarka, he said: "Crabbe, Goyle! Behave", and before he even finished the sentence, they sat down like scolded puppies.

Harry and Gwyonarka exchanged amused glances.

The awkwardness of the situation was still conspicuous when everyone sat down and heavy silence filled the compartment.

A girl with bushy hair and vivid demeanor opened the doors, just when Draco was opening his mouth to say something. 

"Hello. Have you seen a toad?"

Gwyonarka looked at Crabbe.

"Well, you might say that."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. Did she have to be so difficult?

"Really? Oh, wonderful. That Neville boy was very close to crying", the strange girl exclaimed. 

"I'm sorry. We haven't actually seen the toad. Gwyo was… joking, weren't you?", Harry said and narrowed his eyes at his friend. She blushed a bit. She was usually not mean to people who did not do anything to anger her, and the girl hadn't done anything bad. Except maybe being a bit forward and forgetting to knock or introduce herself. 

"We could help you find that toad?", Gwyonarka said apologetically.

The other girl's face lit up.

"Hello. I'm Harry Brogdrak's son. And this is Gwyonarka, daughter of Glaryk. Well met", Harry said. The girls eyes rapidly moved between him and Gwyo, curiously looking at her Goblin features. 

"Oh, uh, hello, I'm Hermione Granger… daughter of Jean and Amzi Granger. Well met", she said, clearly unaccustomed to this way of greeting.

"What's the toad's name?", Gwyonarka asked.

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Uh, I think it was Trevor", she replied. 

Gwyo held out her hands, closed her eyes and centered herself. A golden, toad shaped mist appeared between her palms and started hopping out of the compartment. Hermione stared at her, open mouthed, as did everyone but Harry.

"Let's go, Hermione. We have to follow it", Harry said. She awoke from her stupor, and Harry, Gwyonarka and Hermione followed the golden mist, Harry waving at the slightly dazed Draco as they left.

"How did you do that?", Hermione asked Gwyonarka. 

"You didn't even use your wand! That's so cool!", she said excitedly, nearly jumping up and down. Gwyonarka shrugged. 

"I'm a goblin. Harry can do it, too."

That was true, but Harry blushed. He was not nearly as good as Gwyo at it. And it was so much easier to do it with his brand-new wand.

Hermione looked at Harry and bit her lip. 

"So, is it a species-thing?", she asked. 

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm adopted. I was born a human wizard. Then again, I'm not as strong as Gwyo."

Hermione smiled brightly at him.

"That means it is possible to learn!", she said with an ambitious gleam in her eyes. Harry nodded.

They found the toad behind Neville's school trunk, looking extremely pleased with itself. 


	5. Chapter 5

Neville seemed like a catastrophe walking around in un-tied shoes. He was very embarrassed about his toad being where it was supposed to be and for panicking. He apologised multiple times to Harry and Gwyonarka, who got bored with his insecurities very quickly and told him he should just relax a bit, laying a hand on his shoulder. The boy, startled by Gwyo's aura of protective authority, complied. Harry returned to Draco's compartment alone, because Gwyonarka was not in favour of dealing with Crabbe and Goyle again, but Harry wanted to give Draco an other chance despite his obnoxious friends. Gwyo stayed with Neville and Hermione, vividly discussing the pros and cons of wands, goblin magic and wizardry.

When Harry returned to the compartment, Draco was alone there, reading a book.

He had a relieved look on his face when he saw Harry, but his face fell when he saw that Gwyonarka was not with him.

Draco apologised for Goyle and Crabbe's behaviour, mumbling something about their upbringing and asking after Gwyo.

"We could join them in the other compartment. I don't think she's mad at you, more at your minions", Harry said, ignoring Draco's sputtering at the word. 

They joined the rest of the first-years, Gwyonarka indeed not especially mad at Draco, but looking at him with less respect than before meeting his friends.

She kept talking with Hermione, ignoring Draco's sad eyes.

The development cheered Harry up immensely, since it was a nicer position to cheer up a new friend over getting rejected by Gwyo than trying very hard not to be jealous at the type of attention Draco got from her.

A redheaded tall boy stuck his head into their compartment. 

"Hello. Can I hide from my brothers here?", he asked, slightly whiny.

Everyone nodded. 

"I'm Ron Weasley. Nice to meet you", he said. Draco stiffened a bit at that, opened his mouth, looked at Gwyonarka and closed it again. Harry and Neville introduced themselves.

When Draco said his name, Weasley narrowed his eyes at him. "Malfoy? As in the death eater Malfoy?" 

Draco bristled. 

"Do I look like a death eater to you, Weasley?"

Ron was grinding his teeth.

"Well, I can't tell yet, can I? But you'll probably grow up to be one. And you'll probably be a filthy snake, just like the rest of your ilk."

Harry stood up.

"What's your problem with snakes? They are wonderful beasts", Harry said. Snakes were animals he had always felt a connection with, and when he had met one, he had been able to talk to it.

Ron huffed at that. He looked around and saw a lot of not very friendly faces. He did a double take when he saw Gwyonarka.

"You know what? I think I will leave again", he said aggressively, to nobody in particular. No one stopped him.

When they came to Hogwarts, a man who was at least half giant helped them board little boats that lead towards an impressive castle. It radiated old magic, so much so that Harry got goosebumps and Gwyonarka's breath hitched. 

Everyone fell into companionable, solemn silence. On school grounds, a cacophony of exited voices changed their mood. They entered a great hall, herded together like sheep by the man that had introduced himself as Hagrid, the gamekeeper.

That is where Harry first laid eyes on the man his father had warned him about: Albus Dumbledore. It was clear from the way he stood and everything was subtly centred around him, that he was their leader. Draco whispered his name, confirming Harry's assessment. He wore brightly coloured robes and half-moon glasses and his beard was longer than his arms. He had a jovial smile on his face and chuckled during his conversation with a woman with a tight updo and a dignified posture. When everyone was inside, the headmaster introduced himself with a booming voice and started the sorting ceremony. It was very simple: an enchanted hat was to assess their personality and assign them a house. Harry was irritated when his name wasn't put under "b" as Brogdrak. It had to be "Potter", then. Draco looked at him, a curious expression on his face, when the reached "c". Harry shrugged. "Glaryk" came before Goyle and Granger, and so she had to put the thing on her head first. A bit of murmuring filled the hall as people whispered about her goblin heritage. It wasn't long until the hat proclaimed "GRYFFINDOR!", and Gwyo strutted to the table of cheering upper-years. Goyle was a Slytherin, as expected, and sat down next to Crabbe.Granger was sorted into Gryffindor and immediately sat down next to Gwyonarka. Draco was a Slytherin, to nobody's surprise. When "Harry James Blordak's son Potter" was called to the hat, the whispers started again. Draco, seated at the Slytherin table blanched. "What?!", he mouthed in his direction. Harry shrugged. He was, of course, aware that he was some sort of celebrity, but couldn't fathom why people were making all this fuss about something his mother did when he was a baby. (He didn't consider the option that people were stupid enough to believe him a heroe because he did not die as an infant. It was too absurd.)

One set of eyes was on him, glaring slightly as he walked towards the hat. A man with long, dark hair and a permanent frown arched into his relatively young face. 

When he put on the hat, his hairs stood on end when powerful magic washed over and into him. "Ah yes. Harry Blordak's son.", the hat said. The voice was less audible than a feeling. He felt something rummage through his thoughts. 

"I see resilience and ambition. There's curiosity and enthusiasm for the written word. Also cunning. You could do well in Slytherin or Ravenclaw", the hat said conversationally. "I think I like Slytherin more, aesthetically. Green goes better with my eyes", Harry thought and chuckled. "Well in that case- better be SLYTHERIN!", the hat said, sounding slightly amused. Under scarce applause, Harry joined Draco at the Slytherin table. "You didn't tell me you're Harry Potter!", he whispered to him incredulously. 

"I'm not! I'm Harry Brogdrak's son! I thought it was clear that I was adopted with my round ears and short nose and such", Harry answered. 

Draco nodded. "Yeah I could have guessed. I mean you have the lightning scar."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is it important if I was Harry Potter once? It's not such a big deal."

Draco laughed. 

"Yes, it is. You're the boy who lived. The beacon of hope, the Great HeroThat Vanquished the Dark Lord!", he sing-song'd. Him and Harry giggled, a bit undignified, but since the sorting ceremony was still going on, they did not draw much attention. If the excitement and the newness of the situation wouldn't have overwhelmed Harry so, he would have noticed that a few eyes were still on him, and some of the most calculating stares came from his peers at the table. 


	6. Chapter 6

It was clear to Harry: his head of house hated him. For no discernible reason. But Harry knew how to handle adults that looked at him like something sticking on their shoe.

He held a little speech about the way Slytherins were supposed to behave and carry themselves, also how they should keep a united front. Sometimes his glance landed on Harry and a malevolent expression dominated his face.

Harry decided to ignore it until it became a problem. A lot of the students around him seemed to share his head of house's feelings towards him. It was probably something about the whole "boy who lived" thing that had them so riled up. As the rude Weasley-boy had said, a lot of the fathers and mothers of hus fellow Slytherins had been death eaters. What Harry had read about them sounded really stupid. They were wizard supremacists that had followed a leader with questionable ideas and were still not over the war they lost. But then again, history was written by winners, so it couldn't hurt to listen to their reasoning in person. Harry felt more sympathy towards the other side of the war, naturally. His birth-parents had fought on it and this Voldemort wizard sounded like a complete disaster. And as Gwyonarka had implied, trying to explain logic and honor to brainwashed blood supremacists was a waste of time in most cases. Harry had little sympathy for the winning side, though. They had won the war against Voldemort to fight for the rights of the muggle-born, the half-blood and the so called creatures but as far as Harry could tell, except for stopping the rampaging death eater cult, they had not done much in the last eleven years since the war ended to make life better for anyone but wizards. Just as Brogdrak had pointed out. The encounter with mister Olivander had left a bad taste in his mouth and the not-so-subtle racism against Gwyonarka hadn't escaped him. 

He had chosen the bed next to Draco's. He smiled. Even though he missed his family, it was nice to have made such fast friends with fellow first years. He looked at Blarko's bracelet and smiled. It warmed instantly. Harry laughed. Hopefully, his brother was not pouting over the fact that this was the first time it had changed temperature. He took out his parchment and ink and started writing letters, two very different ones, the one to his father riddled with analysis of his social situation at Hogwarts and the one to his brother focused on the new friends he made and the food he had eaten. He wanted to write to Donark too, but decided against it. He was knackered. It had been a long and exiting day. Harry bid Draco and Blaise (an other boy that felt is if he could become a friend) good night, warded his bed against everyone with a vendetta against him, and fell asleep over the first page of the novel he was reading. 

The next day, Harry got up early, so he could meet Gwyonarka for a bit of sparring before breakfast. They had chosen a spot next to the big lake. Gwyonarkawas late and slightly grumpy, but fighting always put her in a better mood. After she wiped the floor with Harry, as usual, they went up to the castle to take brief showers and meet again at the breakfast table. Draco was most definitely not a morning person, Harry noticed when he came back to the dormitory and found him groaning, trapped in his pyjamas, trying to free himself. 

Blaise laughed at him, already well put together, obviously showered and clothed. Harry nodded to him and weasled into the shower. Draco did not look like someone who was quick about his morning routine. 

"Oi!", Draco shouted, toothbrush pointed accusingly at him, but Harry stuck out his tongue at him and hurried.

"You can always use the common shower, you know", Blaise told Draco.

"I will not even dignify that with an answer", Draco huffed.

Breakfast was nice. Harry liked wizard breakfast food. Lunch not so much. Gwyonarka and Hermione sat together at the Gryffindor table and waved for him to come over. He did so, and got a lot of incredulous stares. When Draco came in, they had nearly finished, Gwyonarka and Hermione still nursing a hot cup of tea. "Good morning, darlings. Whatever are you doing at the Gryffindor table, chosen one?", he asked and raised a brow at Harry. 

He shrugged. "I didn't know it was forbidden."

"It's not. It is just frowned upon", Blaise said, who had smoothly slipped between his roommates.

"Hello, fair Gryffindors. I am Blaise Zabini. Well met."

Hermione turned red as a tomato and nearly spilled her pumpkin juice on the table. Gwyonarka managed to introduce them both. Draco and Harry started eating, Draco nibbling on a croissant and some Darjeeling, Harry eating more than the other two Slytherins combined. 

"Wow how can you eat that much?", Blaise asked in morbid fascination.

"He didn't get enough as a child", Gwyo said truthfully. 

"Look, if you wouldn't have so thoroughly beaten me up this morning, I might be more elegant about getting my nutrition now", Harry replied.

Blaise looked startled.

"You did what?"

Gwyonarka laughed. "Well we are used to sparring every day. And Harry is not quite up to my standards."

Ron Weasley, who was shoveling food into his mouth in the same quantity as Harry but with much less grace, chuckled in a nasty way. 

Hermione glared at him. "What is so funny?"

"Harry Potter, the fabulous Slytherin,getting beaten up by a girl."

"That's not my name", Harry said, quite annoyed.

Draco looked at Gwyonarka who had a disturbing expression on her face.

"Oh boy", he muttered.

"Wow, sexism. How imaginative, Weasley", Hermione sighed.

"Was that a challenge, Weasley?", Gwyonarka asked with a sweet smile, showing off all her sharp teeth. Draco looked at her all starry-eyed.

Ron blinked. "I wouldn't hit a girl", he rushed to say.

"Yeah because she would incapacitate you in less than a minute", Harry snarled. 

Nearly headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost came floating to them. "This is why having breakfast together with other houses is such a rare occurrence. The potential for fighting", he tutted. The fat friar came over to see what the fuss was about.

"Well, sir Nicholas, a little inter-house unity is never misplaced", he said and winked at Blaise, Harry and Draco. 

"Do you think everyone has only one option? I could've easily been a Ravenclaw if I would have chosen so", Harry said.

"Interesting. Me too", Hermione said and raised her teacup to him.

The fat friar nodded. "Yes, a house is an option, not a cage", he said in a jolly voice.

"True. I like being a Slytherin, and it us tradition for my family, but I don't think it defines me solely", Draco agreed. 

"I am a Gryffindor through and through. And this is my table, so bugger off", Weasley exclaimed. 

"Well you're not very chivalrous, are you?", Hermione said in a conversational manner. 

Sir Nicholas was taken aback by Weasley's behaviour. "Young man! You lack manners!" The fat friar nodded frantically. "Such a rude young man."

"Well as much fun as this was", Blaise said and winked at Hermione, who blushed violently, "I think we have to get to class soon." All Slytherins stood up to get their material. As soon as they turned their back, Sir Nicholas started to lament the state of the Gryffindor gentlemen, in a loud and whiny way. Professor McGonnagal came over and he told her about Weasley's sins. Harry grinned silently. Their first lesson was charms with the Hufflepuffs. The professor was half goblin. It was a great lesson. As soon as Flitwick noticed that lesson was not challenging for Harry, he instructed him to help other students. After class, he suggested reading material to Harry for further studies.

The next lesson, in contrast, was abysmal. The teacher was a ghost. Professor Binns taught "history", but the more accurate description would have been "thinly veiled anti-goblin propaganda with occasion fun facts about the grandiose achievements of wizard-kind". Harry was grinding his teeth. Then he imagined Gwyonarka in this class, and a small smile creeped into his face. But he could not wait for her to put this pompous excuse for an educator in his place. Harry took out parchment and quill and composed a letter to the board of education. He asked Malfoy's advice in it, and the boy was happy to help, bored out of his mind. Blaise was polishing his fingernails, Crabbe and Goyle were playing cards under the table. A Hufflepuff girl was taking a nap on the table.

The last lesson of the day was Potions with the Gryffindors. Harry was interested in the subject and hopeful that his head of house was professional enough to not let his irrational hatred get in the way of teaching. 

He greeted his Gryffindor friends and took a seat next to Hermione. Professor Snape started a speech about potioneering and it did sound really wonderful. One could feel that the man had true passion for his subject. He did not seem particularly fond of students or teaching, for that matter. Maybe he had taken the job for the prestige, Harry wondered. It had to be an advantageous position if Albus Dumbledore wanted to be headmaster. 

"Ah yes. Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity", Professor Snapd droned.

"It's Harry Brogdrak's son, professor Snape", Harry said, before he could keep himself from doing so.

"Arrogant. Just like your father", professor Snape said, his voice scathing.

"With all due respect, sir, you do not know Brogdrak, and if you have a problem with him, I am sure he will gladly talk with you about it", Harry said sweetly, green eyes boring into the teacher.

"What do you get if you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, Brogdrak's son?", professor Snape snarled, clearly expecting Harry to not know the answer.

"The draught of living death, sir", Harry answered. He had, of course, prepared for the lesson. The teacher narrowed his eyes very slightly. 

"Where do you find a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of the goat. And any well stocked potions-supply, I'd imagine, since it is a powerful remedy for a lot of potion-related accidents, sir."

Professor Snape stopped interrogating him and moved on to the next victim. 

"What is the difference between monkshood and aconite, miss Granger?", he asked the Gryffindor.

"There is none. They are the same plant, sir", she answered proudly. 

Snape started pacing up and down in front of them.

"Well. It seems you are better prepared than most first year idiots I usually have to deal with", the professor stated, sounding less satisfied than disappointed.

"Weasley, get the mortars and bronze knives from the supply cupboard."

He seemed more happy when Weasley managed to mistake iron knives for bronze and he could take away ten points from Gryffindor. (How? Weasley was really amazingly under prepared.)

The poor Neville was so nervous because of the dramatically intimidating man that he dropped his mortar in his cauldron, which nearly landed him in the infirmary. 

Hermione and Harry kept their heads down and finished their potion on time. They got two house points each, which Harry thought of as a win.

Getting out of the dungeons, which where usually a part of the castle that Harry genuinely liked, was nice today.

"What a nightmarish man", Hermione said and he nodded in agreement.

'Hey! That's my godfather you're talking about!", Draco said. Hermione, Gwyonarka and Harry gave him pitiful glances.

Gwyo snickered.

"He reminds me of you dad, Harry."

Harry bristled. 

"He is so not like Brogdrak! Yes, I know that Brogdrak is a bit of a strict teacher, but he is never unfair for no reason."

Gwyonarka shook her head.

"Yeah, true. But he also has this teaching style where boys like Neville would start dropping things."

Harry looked at her pointedly. 

"You are just as bossy."

Gwyo shrugged.

"Finally someone else but me gets called bossy!", Hermione proclaimed. 

"You're not bossy. You're just a control-freak", Gwyonarka said affectionately. 

Neville sped up to them. "I'm pants at potions. Which is strange because I shouldn't be, since I'm good at herbology, and it's so similar", he said, sounding frustrated. 

"It's because you're letting mister I-hate-students get to you. Really, the way he acts you would think someone is making him teach. Does he even want to be here?", Harry said.

"Stop bashing my godfather already", Draco muttered.

"So, your father is a teacher, Harry?", Hermione asked, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. 

"Not really. I went to the same school as Gwyonarka, but we were partly homeschooled, as is custom in Goblinia. All the parents take turn in teaching children something. My father taught us manners and language", Harry explained. 

"My mum taught fighting and cooking", Gwyonarka added.

"Gwyo, do you think they will let us into the kitchen and cook from time to time? I do miss frakslew", Harry said. Gwyo rolled her eyes. "We've been here two days. You haven't even eaten normal dinner yet."

"Yes, well. I know English food. I lived with humans my first six years, remember?"

"I try not to", Gwyonarka said, the sad expression she usually sported when talking about Harry's early childhood on her face.

"What… happened there? If it's okay to ask?", Hermione said shyly. 

"Petunia and Vernon Dursley happened. Something that made me stronger in some ways and weaker in others", Harry answered non-committal. A way too understanding nod from Neville and a worried look from Draco followed.

In the shadows behind them, a cloaked potion master blanched while listening in.


	7. Chapter 7

"You did  _ what?! _ ", Draco shrieked in a high-pitched voice. Harry sighed. Honestly, it wasn't that big a deal.

"So what? It's not like he didn't have it coming", he said and couldn't help but smirk thinking of the look on Weasley's face when Gwyonarka had transformed back. 

"It was an innocent prank."

Harry and Gwyonarka had glamoured each other to look like the other one and had sat down next to Ron Weasley and Dean Thomas on the grass after class. Just as expected, Weasley started to be rude to "Harry", up to the point of wanting to fight him physically. (The Gryffindor knew that it wasn't a good idea to challenge him magically, Harry, Hermione and Gwyo were brilliant in practically every class.)

After fake-Harry had thoroughly and utterly and, one may add, in a humiliating manner, wiped the floor with Weasley's face, she had transformed back into Gwyonarka and Harry back to his own face. They had a laugh. It was fun.

Draco placed the room, slightly panicked. 

"You… you can do glamours so advanced that I doubt my father could pull it off quite like that. Gwyonarka is  _ clearly  _ a war goddess or something. And… are you holding back in class?", Draco asked, exasperation on his face. 

"So you have a crush on my best friend? Don't think I will let this go so easily", Harry mumbled. So, what could he do? He could obviously tease him for it. Well it had been obvious before his slip-up. 

Draco just glared at him.

Harry sighed again.

"We're Goblinians, Draco. We can do all sorts of stuff. We're at Hogwarts to explore our human heritage and learn more about the human wizarding world. Transforming matches into needles is not quite the challenge for us."

Draco sat down. All his life, he had been told (explicitly and implicitly) that wizards were the best at magic and basically everything for that matter. The purebloods around him were slightly miffed by the inconvenience that they could not  _ openly  _ rule the world, including muggles and creatures. Draco's self-image was in disarray. 

"That's mental!", he whispered to himself, in shock over the realization that should have hit him weeks ago on the Hogwarts Express. Wizards were not the best at everything. They weren't even equal to the best. They were, and it hurt to admit it, mediocre at magic. He thought back, reevaluating his life. All the most valuable and magical things his family owned and was so proud of were goblin-made. He thought hard. Goblins did not use wands. Father had told him that it was due to the fact that the ministry forbade them from doing so. But everything Harry and Gwyonarka did suggested that they simply did not have any need for it.

"Goblins should rule the world", Draco muttered.

Harry blinked at him, astonished by Draco's thought process. 

"Uh. Draco? Why do you think goblins should rule the world?", he asked his friend, looking very much like he was about to see him to the infirmary.

"They are stronger than wizards", the blonde boy replied in a defeated voice.

"Well, yeah. But I'm stronger than you and that doesn't mean I have any desire to rule over you. Or be ruled over by Gwyo for that matter", Harry reasoned, giggling at the thought, a sound rarely heard in the Slytherin dorms, as everyone tried to be cunning and dignified at all times.

Draco pouted. 

"My head hurts. I'm going to bed", he whined.

Harry was still laughing.

"I think Fred and George Weasley are trying to get through Dumbledore's parcour again", Hermione said and rolled her eyes. 

"Dumbledore's what now?", Neville said, swearing when he accidentally smeared ink all over his not-yet-dried essay on the transfiguration of non-moving objects.

"His parcour. You know, this speech he gave about "mortal danger" or some such to whoever tried to get into a forbidden corridor? Not the smartest thing to say to a bunch of curious children", Gwyonarka said mockingly. 

"So, apparently, now they're researching magical plants", Hermione told her friends. "I was thinking: maybe the whole thing is a ploy to get the mist troublesome students to study more? I mean they are doing all this research and they're not exactly studious normally."

Gwyo wiggled her nose in silent contemplation. 

"The twins are not lazy if they set their minds to something. They are just not as enthusiastic about the school curriculum as you, Hermione", she said and winked to her friend. There was a lot of winking with the goblins, as their friends had found out. 

Neville shook his head.

"Sounds like a pretty wild conspiracy theory to me."

"Oh, there are wilder conspiracy theories by far. One is that the smelly Quirrel bloke is a mean monster, and secretly trying to get students to solve the parcour for him. I think the most far-fetched one is that he is the Dark Lord who has come to Hogwarts to bother eleven year olds and find his apprentice. The best one I heard was that Dumbledore is trying to train Harry in being a top secret mini-auror, because no one is better at haunting dark homicidal maniacs than a child who can eat his own weight in potatoes", Gwyonarka explained.

Hermione huffed.

"Honestly! Dumbledore is headmaster of a school, not some power hungry mastermind who trains child-soldiers. I think my theory is the most plausible. It's an educational game", she said, a superior smile on her face.

This evening was much like any other, just with more decorations and more food-options. There were floating pumpkin lanterns, which was a nice touch, and some candy. 

The Slytherins had begrudgingly gotten used to Harry, Blaise and Draco making nice with the Gryffindors in public. Mostly because everyone was a bit afraid of Harry's skill. Crabbe had tried to hex Harry in the common room once. It ended with him dangling naked from the chandelier. Also, Marcus Flint, the quidditch team captain, had told everyone to leave the boy alone. Not just because of the steady stream of house-points the boy managed to procure for Slytherin, also because Snape had told him that he might make a fine addition to their team quite soon. Harry was a prodigy on a broom. Draco was annoyed by that. "Honestly, is there something you're not good at at first try?", he asked Harry after he had flown circles around him. 

"It's kind of cool, actually, to not be absolutely below average for once", Harry said merrily. Back at home in Goblinia, he always had felt like the odd one out. A bit weak, magically as well as physically. Draco still got his typical headache, whenever he tried thinking about it for too long. 

"Exactly. They will probably laugh about us at home because we're so far behind", Gwyo said with an almost pained expression on her face. Her wand was sticking in her braid, which Harry found hilarious. He had liked it better as a hairpin, anyway.

"Are the goblins really that much more advanced?", Hermione asked, slightly miffed, but most of all curious.

"Yes", Harry said.

"No", Gwyonarka said at the same time.

Harry looked at her and lifted an eyebrow. 

"Look, we still have wars between different Settlements. We still have jealous people, racists, gossips and whatnot. It's not so different from wizard-culture actually", she said and without pause started munching on a giant serving of shepherd's pie. 

"Yeah, but technology and medicine are way more advanced in Goblinia. Remember the thing trapped in my scar that Ragnot healed? He said it would have been nearly impossible to get out for a wizard in one peace."

Blaise furrowed his brows. 

"You had something trapped in a scar? What was it? I've never heard of that."

"I don't know either. It was something like a parasite. Probably from back when I was a baby with the whole Dark Lord thing", Harry answered, a bit distracted by his food.

Gwyonarka nodded.

"Yes, but we could share our healing methods with humans, and it's this big taboo, because you're so arrogant. And probably to keep you weaker, so that you're easier to exploit financially."

Neville looked at her with a dazed expression. 

"Do they make exceptions?", he asked hopefully.

Gwyonarka gave him a noncommittal shrug, but looked at him more intently. 

The stinky DADA professor came barging into the great hall.

"T..Troll. In the dungeons. Th-thought you should know.", he said. Then he dramatically fainted. Harry shook his head. No wonder there were strange rumours about the man. But it was too late to stop the panic that followed the professor's declaration. Everything was in upheaval. 

"Stop! Everyone to their common rooms, please, in an orderly fashion", the headmaster bellowed.

The Slytherins looked at each other in disbelief. "Did he forget that our common room is in the dungeons?", Millicent Bulstrode asked in a stage-whisper.

"The teachers will handle it, don't worry", professor McGonnagal, the head of house at Gryffindor said condescendingly.

"We could just stay here, where the food is", Harry told Gwyonarka, who tried very hard not to laugh.

Draco looked as if he was about to follow the example of their defense against the dark arts teacher and faint.

"I don't know why you're still joking. It's a troll! Merlin's hairy bollocks, I would rather not meet that thing", he said. 

Professor Snape yelled over the murmurs.

"We are staying in the hall for now. The headmaster seems to have  _ misspoken _ ", Snape snarled venomously. 

Hermione seemed lost in thought.

"Wow. The adults don't seem to know what they're doing either", she said, as if it was a big revelation. Here at Hogwarts, it should have been clear for a long time, Harry thought. After having to take even one lesson with professor Binns, there couldn't be any doubt about the incompetence of the headmaster. 

"It's just a troll", Gwyonarka said in a soothing voice. It wasn't the best strategy to keep Draco from panicking. 

"At least we don't have to go to the dungeons", Harry said, and started to dig into his food again.

"What, are you afraid of trolls now?", Gwyonarka asked him, as if it was a ridiculous thing to not want to fight a troll.

"Look, I'm not  _ afraid _ of trolls, it's not like I have a phobia or something, but I'd rather avoid it. It's basically nothing but aggressive muscle and a club. It's very simple. Dungeons: no food, troll. Great hall: food, no troll", Harry stated Harry. 

"But imagine how challenging it would be!", Gwyonarka sighed, starry eyed. 

"Oh, Glaryk, is it you, glamoured into looking like your daughter?", Harry quipped.

Neville looked a bit green in the face.

"I think Harry has a point", he mumbled.

Blaise looked at Hermione in disbelief. 

"Well I know why you're in Gryffindor with Weasley."

Gwyonarka bristled at the jab. But she couldn't really retaliate without proving his point. 

"Well I'm definitely not made for Slytherin banter, but far be it from me to want fight a troll, Gryffindor or not", said Neville, shuddering. 

Meanwhile, half the staff had gone to apprehend the creature.

"How did he even get into Hogwarts in the first place?", Hermione asked, completely shaken not by the intrusion of a troll but because of her wounded trust in authority.

"Yes! Conspiracy game! Let's go!", Harry piped up.

Blaise shook his head. "You seemed so dignified at the start of the year."

Harry shrugged. "The humans are rubbing off on me."

"The forbidden corridor is guarded by a mountain troll!", Gwyo suggested.

"Professor Quirrel is a wer-troll and was confounded by his transformation", Neville trumped her.

"That's such rubbish, why would a "wer-troll" be scared of himself?",Hermione snorted.

"It was by design. A distraction, so that he could get through Dumbledore's parcour so that he gets the prize at the end", Neville improvised.

"I've got one. The ministry of magic is trying to stress-test us, so that we can be child-soldiers in the next wizarding war", Draco butted in.

"That is to close to the  _ Dumbledore wants Harry to be a secret Auror  _ conspiracy theory", Blaise criticized. 

"Ok, so in my novels, the most inconspicuous person is the mastermind behind the operation. Who would that be in our case? Quirrel is out, he's too obvious with his creepiness and smelly turban. I say it's Pomona Sprout, head of the cuddly Hufflepuffs. She let the troll in so that she could collect it's carcass after Dumbledore and Snape disposed of it", Harry said in a dramatic whisper. 

"One day I'm going to master the parcour just so that I can find out which of your ridiculous theories comes closest to the truth", Hermione grumbled.

Snape came back into the hall. 

"The troll is secured. Professor Flitwick did very smoothly captured the creature. Return to whatever you were doing", the professor said in a bored tone.

"He just gave everyone blanket permission to gossip", Blaise exclaimed. He grinned and showed his very white teeth. Hermione put a spoonful of mustard into her tea and sighed.

Lavender Brown came over, eager at the word "gossip", and not completely immune to Blaise's perfect smile.

"What do you think  _ really  _ happened?", she asked with gleaming eyes.

"Oh, I think it was Hagrid. Fred and George told me that he likes to keep dangerous creatures as pets, and he tried to tame the troll, but accidentally let it lose on school-grounds. A pity it ate him, though", Neville said and sighed deeply. Everyone stared at him, impressed by his absolutely straight face.

Blaise gave him mocking applause.

"I succumb to you, Neville. That was the best one yet. You are a true master", Harry said and shook Neville's hand.

Lavender looked at them with a look of utter confusion. 

"I could've taken that troll!", Ron Weasley boasted to Dean and Parvati.

Gwyonarka laughed. He glared at her when the rest of them joined in.

They continued to be ridiculous and their banter got more and more absurd until they had to return to their dorms, their stomachs full of candy and pumpkin juice.

  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

"Harry, could I speak to you about something?", Neville asked Harry. He seemed terribly fidgety and serious. 

"Sure, go ahead", Harry said lightly, trying to ease the tension.

"So, you know I grew up with my grandmother, right?", Neville said. Harry thought about it. Neville didn't talk much about his home life, and it seemed like a touchy subject, so Harry had not pried.

"My mum and dad, Alice and Frank, they were friends with the Potters. They went to school together", Neville explained. He stopped talking, seemingly trying to focus.

"In the war against you-know-who, they were tortured by death eaters. They didn't… you know. Die. I'm sorry this must be awful to hear", Neville stuttered. Harry shook his head. It was awful, but he had talked about it a lot. Brogdrak had told him about his parents and answered his questions, but he had also advised Harry to see one of the mind-healing adults about it and talk about his feelings.

"So. My parents. They're at Saint Mungo's hospital. They have been since I was one year old. And they can't really speak much or, or… I don't know. Sometimes I think they recognize me", he said, squeezing Trevor a bit too hard. The toad ribbited accusingly. Harry nodded and laid a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder.

"When you were talking about goblin-healing… I just… I thought…", Neville looked at him, nervous hope on his face.

Harry thought about it. His father had been able to heal him. It was entirely possible that he could help Neville's parents.

"I'd have to ask Brogdrak if he would be willing to heal adult wizards. I think it would be illegal for him to do so, by goblin law. But I will ask him, Neville. Even if he said yes, I can make no predictions. He might be able to help them or not. Mind magic is fickle", he answered. Neville had tears on his face. He hugged Harry and shook in silent sobs. Harry awkwardly patted his back and tried to discreetly shield Trevor from getting squished between them.

Harry wrote the letter to his father the same evening. He hoped that the answer would come before the yule holidays. He felt a lot of sympathy for Neville. They were not so much alike as people, but their stories were similar. They both had grown up with people who weren't their parents, and if Harry's suspicions were right, Neville had a complicated and slightly stressful home life. If Brogdrak wouldn't have adopted Harry, who knows what his childhood would gave been like? Probably more of the same. Being locked in a cupboard, getting so little nutrition that it stunted his growth and being punished for existing. Bridak, the mind-healer, had made him repeat a sentence over and over again, mantra-like, for a whole year before going to sleep. "What happened to me is not my fault." Harry wondered if Neville was aware of this truth. Harry thought of his loving goblin family and their very different ways of showing affection. His wrist felt warm. Harry smiled. He had tried yesterday to make the bracelet warm up, but Blarko had probably had other things on his mind.

Brogdrak always gave helpful advice and believed in Harry's abilities, which was extremely important for someone like him, who had been told mist of his life that he was worthless and useless. 

In his last letter, Brogdrak had suggested meditating to Harry, to strengthen his mind and give him a challenge, now that he was ahead of most of his peers. Meditation was not Harry's forte. Even though he liked reading and other quiet activities, something about meditation just irked him. Any time he sat down and tried to meditate, he had gotten extremely fidgety and then angry. It just wasn't right for an eleven year old boy to "focus on his breath". Boredom made his bones itch. The upside to meditating was that any time he tried to do it, he found at least five different more urgent and important things to do. 

Lately, even if the lessons were relatively easy in comparison to Goblinia, Harry had a lot on his plate. Draco had talked him into first-year flying practice, a club for all houses. It was nice to have a friendly competition with flyers from other houses, though Gwyonarka, as always, posed the biggest challenge to him. 

Hermione and Neville sometimes watched them, even if flying made them nervous. 

Gwyo, Neville and Hermione were so close with each other, Draco and Harry (and occasionally Blaise) that everyone had just accepted them and the murmurs about house loyalty had died down slightly. It might've been related to the fact that nobody wanted to cross Harry and Hermione. But first year flying practice also diminished some of the house rivalry. Some, of course, were unsolvably stubborn about their prejudices, like Crabbe and Weasley, who intentionally missed out on practice even if they liked quidditch very much.

Harry's schedule was quite full, with sparring training every morning and quidditch practice thrice a week. Then there was homework. Even if the practical parts came easy to him, he still had to write his essays and get a grasp on the wizard's perspective on magical theory. Also, spending time just playing and joking with his friends was glorious and big part of why he had come to Hogwarts in the first place. 

Some things still rubbed Harry wrong. His letter to the board of education had not resulted in anything yet. Binns was still spouting anti-goblin sentiment. Gwyo had been in detention twice now, for trying to start a fight with the ghost. 

Professor Quirrel was so hard to listen to, it bordered on incompetence, too. Professor Snape had gotten a bit better lately. 

Also, Ron Weasley was becoming a thorn in his thigh. Since their prank, Weasley tried everything he could to ridicule Harry. His current strategy was questioning his hero status, which annoyed Harry to no end. He had challenged him several times to go through Dumbledore's parcour now. It was laughable, really. 

An owl landed on Harry's desk. It had a parcel in it's claws and hooted. Harry gave the owl a treat that he stole from Draco's stash. Then he checked the parcel for a note. There was nothing there except his name. He checked it for malicious intent and found none. He opened it. Inside was a silvery cloak. It smelled of powerful magic. 

(Harry couldn't really _smell_ magic, but smelling was closest to what it felt like.)

He went over to the mirror and tried it on. He immediately disappeared. 

"Wow", he said to himself.

"Blaise! Look!", he screamed.

Blaise looked up from his potions essay in confusion. 

"Harry?", he said and looked around. 

"Yes!", Harry said and grinned. 

"Where are you?", Blaise answered.

"This is brilliant!", Harry said.

He could make people not notice him and he could cast a glamour that made him hard to see if you didn't look closely enough, but being completely and utterly invisible- that was mental. 

"Awesome", Harry said and squished Blaises nose. 

"Aaaargh! Harry! What are you doing?", Blaise said to his visible hand that was sticking out of the cloak.

Harry laughed and took the cloak off. 

"Wow! You have an invisibility cloak?", Blaise asked obviously.

"Wait until Draco sees this, he will throw a fit."

"Wait until I see what? Draco, who was conveniently coming in from the bathroom right then.

"Harry's new invisibility cloak", Blaise said, gesturing to Harry's new garment.

"What! You're so lucky, I've been begging dad for one for ages!", Draco whined.

"Relax, boys, we can share it", Harry soothed his friends. Then he threw the cloak to Draco. Draco groaned in delight as he put it on. "Salazar! Harry, imagine the pranks we can play on Weasley now!"

  
  


Brogdrak's letter came the next day. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I am moved by your concern for your friend. I can not, however, break goblin law and come to a human hospital and meddle with wizarding procedures. If you are still willing to help your friend, ask him to visit you over Christmas and to bring his parents with him. Should they be at my house and_ accidentally _have a very minor injury, I would be required to check on my guest's health, as is custom._

_Tell your friend Neville that he and his family would be welcome._

_Blarko and I have bought all the ingredients for flemarmek and are looking forward to prepare it with you. Blarko has started to take over your part of the room and says you'll have to fight him for it._

_I hope you are practicing to meditate and have more patience with it than your brother does._

Harry snorted as he imagined Blarko trying to meditate. 

_I hope you are still reading practicing Mer and not just spells and ostentatious wand-waving._

_I look forward to seeing you soon._

_Your father_

Harry folded the letter and thought about burning it because of the sensitiv information it contained, but decided against it. Only Draco could read some basic Warketh, and he wouldn't have any issues with it.

Harry stretched out his hands and concentrated on Neville. The vaguely Neville-shaped light appeared and walked towards the library. Harry followed it to him. He was sitting next to Hermione, ink smudges on his hands and face, leaned over an essay. When he saw the light, he shrieked. Madame Pince gave him a dirty look.

"Merlin, Harry! Can't you just ask ten different people where I am, like the rest of us have to do?", Neville grumbled. 

"I have news. Do you want some privacy?", Harry asked, looking discreetly at Hermione, who barely acknowledged him, deeply absorbed by " _The Muggle-born Guide to Wizarding Culture, by Penelope Trender_ ". 

"No, it's ok. Hermione can know about it, I don't mind", Neville said, suddenly not annoyed by Harry's method of finding him anymore. 

Hermione lifted her head inquisitively. 

"I can know about what? Are you going to show us the finding-spell?"

Harry shook his head.

"It's not a spell, it is just magic. But this is about Neville's parents", Harry explained. 

Hermione's eyes widened. 

"My father said that he could not break goblin law and meddle with wizards'' healing methods. But he also implied that if you come to our house for Christmas and bring them, there was a loophole he could exploit", Harry summarised his father's letter.

Neville looked pensive. 

"I don't think I can just take them somewhere. And I don't think my grandmother would approve."

Hermione finally could not fight her curiosity any longer. 

"Ok, what is this about?"

"Harry asked his father if they could help my parents. They have brain-damage from the war", Neville told her. Hermione's face fell.

"I'm so sorry, Neville", she answered after a moment of silence. 

"If I could just sneak them out of their room and into the portkey area, we could bring them to your home", Neville suggested. 

"I might have something that could come in handy for an endeavor like this", Harry said, a mischievous smile on his face. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Coming home was wonderful. Gwyonarka had rushed to her house with Glaryk, eager to eat a good goblin meal.

Blarko had picked him up together with their father at the station and wriggled out of his glamour as soon as they were back in Goblinia. 

They hugged, something that they seldomly did, and then they had cooked and baked and talked until they could not keep their eyes open anymore. 

Harry told Brogdrak and Blarko about his new cloak and Brogdrak was less amused than Harry by it's unexplained appearance.

"It should have been in your vault. It was listed among your belongings when they made me your legal guardian and gave me inventory for safe keeping. I thought it had been stolen", Brogdrak told Harry.

  
  


Saint Mungo's was packed with visitors. Everyone wanted to see their sick relatives for Christmas, and the port portkey section was busy with people carrying flowers and food. People with magical injuries, quite a lot of them related to the festivities, were brought into examination rooms. One wizard sprouted pheasant feathers. An elderly with was floated inside, stuck in a giant snow globe. 

Hermione couldn't help but stare at a woman who kept coughing up fairy lights.

Neville, Hermione, Harry and Gwyo walked up to the Longbottom's room trying to draw as little attention as possible. 

Inside, it was quiet. Frank was asleep, his face thin and pale. Alice, who looked more youthful but had an empty expression on her face,was folding candy wrappers. 

"Hi mum. Hi dad", Neville said.

"These are my friends. We're going to have Christmas dinner at Harry's place", Neville said. Alice Longbottom barely responded. 

Everyone murmured their greetings, even if they weren't quite sure if Neville's mother had noticed them. Hermione looked at Gwyonarka for reassurance, but her usually so self-assured friend looked just as lost as Hermione felt.

Neville looked at Harry and nodded determinedly.

Harry threw his cloak over the sleeping Mr. Longbottom and floated him to the door. Alice smiled at Neville and handed him the candy wrapper. Gwyonarka glamoured the woman into being less noticable and they moved towards the foyer. It was hard to not waken Frank Longbottom and not to bump into anyone. A healer distractedly bumped into mrs. Longbottom, but she just apologised and rushed towards a man that had tendrils all over the left side of his face. 

They hurried to activate the portkey and closed their eyes. 

When they arrived in Brogdrak's house, everyone was sweaty and slightly breathless. Neville greeted Brogdrak nervously, as did Hermione and Gwyo. The stern man nodded his head and welcomed them.

The house was warm and cozy. There were some very pretty silver Christmas ornaments, they seemed repurposed, but it came together well with the little tree they had probably brought in for the sake of their human guests.

Alice Longbottom looked at the tree and immediately lost her focus again. Frank Longbottom was still sleeping.

"Father, I think Mr and Mrs Longbottom bumped their heads when we landed. Could you maybe look at them?", Harry asked politely for plausible deniability. 

Brogdrak held his hands above Alice Longbottom's head. She followed his movements silently. He hummed. 

He went over to Frank Longbottom, who had finally opened his eyes, even if he seemed as if he was still sleeping and repeated the procedure. He turned to Neville.

"Your parents have endured a lot of trauma. Sometimes, when there is too much pain, our magical core tries to protect us as it should. In an attempt to stop the pain, it shuts down the ability to recognize stimuli. In your parent's case, their magic wrapped itself around their perception, like a cocoon. I can not undo this safely", he explained. Neville tensed. There was still sweat on his face and red spots on his chubby cheeks. He was keeping it together well, all things considered. 

"I can, however, help them. To do so, I will extract some of their magic. It's possible that they will not be able to use their magical cores after this. But they have a chance of regaining some or even all of their mental abilities", Brogdrak continued. 

Neville exhaled in relief. 

"Can you do it now?", he pleaded. Brogdrak nodded shortly. Hermione and Gwyo exchanged worried glances.

Brogdrak hummed and started to work on Frank Longbottom first. Glowing strings appeared and seemed to detangle themselves. Some, Brogdrak took away. When he had to pull a very bright one, the man who had seemed unconscious again until now, moaned painfully. 

The lights disappeared. Brogdrak wiped his hands on a linen cloth. 

"It is done. We'll have to see how he's doing once he wakes up", Brogdrak whispered. He turned to Alice Longbottom, who was tracing the lines on her hands. Again, the glowing strings appeared, less tangled than her husband's. After taking some time to detangle most of them, Brogdrak pulled some out. They were more, but less bright than the first ones.

They sat there in silence, waiting for Neville's parents to wake up. 

Hermione nervously checked her watch. She had wanted to accompany her friends, but her parents expected her back home soon.

Alice was the first to open her eyes. She looked at Harry.

"James?", she asked. Then she looked at Neville in confusion. She startled and looked from her son to her sleeping husband's sallow face. 

"Neville.", she said quietly. 

Neville started crying.


	10. Chapter 10

A bushy haired, eleven year old brunette was standing in front of a mirror. The holidays had been full of interesting literature, unbearably exiting adventures and parental concern. 

Part of it was talking Hermione out of changing her teeth for cosmetic reasons. Especially with magic. "Teeth don't mix with magic", her father had decided. How he would know such a thing was beyond her.

"Do you think my front-teeth are too big?", Hermione asked Gwyonarka.

Gwyo looked at her incredulously.

"Too big for  _ what _ ?", she asked.

Hermione pouted. 

"Aesthetically speaking."

"Herms, I'm a goblin, my teeth are quite literally predator jaws. Do you really think I'm the right person to ask?", Gwyo sighed. 

"Well you're pretty. Everyone knows it. Draco and Harry practically worship you and I saw Lavender and Fred staring at you in the common room at least three times", Hermione explained. "Besides, I didn't want objectivity, I wanted to know what  _ you  _ think. Do my teeth fit my face?", she said earnestly. 

"Oh Gods. Do you fancy me? I thought you were mooning after Blaise Zabini!", Gwyo proclaimed in mock-horror. Hermione blushed violently. 

"Well, do you think Blaise finds me pretty?", she asked in a small voice. 

"Well, first of all, it doesn't matter if he finds you pretty, you can just hex him if he doesn't. Second of all, I think your teeth are perfectly adequate and you look quite nice. Blaise is always trying to sit next to you, so he probably likes you. I don't know if it's because of your teeth or not, but you're the human girl, so you should know such things", Gwyo teased.

"I want to change them but my parents think I shouldn't", Hermione admitted. 

"They're your teeth, not your parent's", the goblin girl said and shrugged. 

Hermione grinned.

"You're absolutely right, my wise friend", she said. She turned to the mirror, scrunched her nose in concentration and started shortening her teeth with a spell that she had memorized from a book about healing spells. Obviously, the girl had already made up her mind and had just needed encouragement from her friend.

Lavender came in.

"Oh, cool! You're changing your teeth? Can I do your hair next? I found a smoothing charm that I wanted to try on someone", she chirped. 

Hermione shook her head, wild curls flying.

"Thanks, Lavender. Maybe some other time. But I like my hair the way it is", she said, a satisfied,  _ even _ grin on her face.

"It suits you", Parvati complimented her.

"Thanks", Hermione answered, feeling a little surge of confidence flow through her.

"You can do my hair, Lavender. It doesn't need straightening, but maybe you could do that fishtail braid that you told me about", Gwyonarka asked after looking at the blond girl for a second longer than usual. Lavender eagerly complied and tied gold and red ribbons into the braid. She seemed a little nervous and took longer than she usually did when doing hair. Hermione looked at them and smiled meaningfully.

"Our house-colors. For the Quidditch-match. And don't you dare bring a book, Granger!", Lavender said, looking at her work with satisfaction. "You're gorgeous, Gwyo.  _ Draco _ will swoon", she said, speaking his name as if it were a curse word.

Gwyo fought Hermione for her spot in front of the mirror. 

"I like it. Thank you, Lav. But if Draco swoons, it better be because of my fierceness, not my hair."

"Why not both?", Parvati suggested. 

Gwyonarka grinned and went looking for a scarf and gloves. 

"Did she just call me "love", Lavender whispered to Parvati.

"I think it was "Lav", like she calls me "Herms", but you're onto something with her, I think", Hermione encouraged her dormmate. She blushed.

  
  
  


Neville was back to school and he should have been less happy about it. It wasn't like he was anything but grateful for the miracle of having his parents talking to him again. But whenever he had imagined his parents to get better, it had been a happy fantasy of them coming and taking care of him, ridding him of his extremely controlling grandmother. 

What he had not expected was his father cowering before Augusta, Augusta lamenting how everyone around her was  _ practically a squib now, but it's so good to have you back, Frank _ and Alice Longbottom trying to convince her husband that she did not love him any less because he didn't have magic anymore. His mother made a true effort to get to know him, which was good. Because whenever his father was trying to get into a conversation with him, Augusta came and dominated the conversation, while Neville shrank into a chair. Sometimes it felt like he was two different people: Hogwarts-Neville and home-Neville. Hogwarts-Neville had friends and occasionally bantered with them, played pranks and was even a bit sarcastic from time to time. Home-Neville could barely make it from his room to the kitchen without stumbling, was afraid of his own shadow and couldn’t talk in full sentences when his imposing grandmother went on and on over his lack of magical talent.

His mum had caught some glimpses of the more confident version of his, but his dad did not. Most of the time, he was still staring with that vacant, haunted look on his face. And it was wonderful that he was able to speak now, and it was so good to see his parents actually talking and recognizing things around them. But deep inside, Neville was ashamed to admit, he felt disappointment. He wanted to feel loved. And the sad truth was that Augusta Longbottom did not make him feel loved. He knew that, in her own twisted way, his grandmother loved him. But eleven years of scathing remarks and condescending looks, abusive uncle Algy who had  _ thrown him out the window to see if he was a squib _ and laughing about his love for gardening were stronger than the abstract notion of love. 

Hearing his parents speak to him had always been his idea of a happy end. What he had gotten instead was a hopeful beginning. His mother and father were not the idealised fantasies that he had made them out to be in his mind, helped by his grandmother’s heroic tales and comparisons, in which he always fell short. And now that they were around Longbottom Manor, it seemed like they had fallen from grace, too. His grandmother was not only undermining Frank’s self-esteem, she was also giving Alice backhanded compliments and acted as if helping them heal was a huge sacrifice. 

Neville thought about it and was displeased with his own attitude. “Stop whinging and start helping them heal!”, he said to himself and straightened his spine. Then he went to see professor McGonnagal.

“Hello,mr. Longbottom. Can I help you?”, the teacher said, looking up from a stack of homework she was grading.

“Hello, professor. My parents recently got better. I was wondering if I could have a few weekends with them, to help them get to know me better and to get them accustomed to their new world”, he requested.

Minerva McGonnagal looked startled.

“Frank and Alice are talking again?”, she whispered. Her eyes were shining. She transformed a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, before blowing her nose quite loudly.

“Neville, that’s wonderful. I will inform the headmaster, but I can give you blanket-permission to spend more time with them right now. May I hug you?”, the usually stern professor asked.

Neville nodded awkwardly. The courage he had needed to walk up to her office and ask for what he wanted had drained him of all emotion already, but when professor McGonnagal gave him a hug, he patted her back carefully.

  
  


Watching quidditch with his friends was the absolute best, Harry decided. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were at each other’s throats, and the badgers were not holding back or playing nice, like the stereotype would have suggested. Hong Nguyen, a Hufflepuff beater, had just nearly pushed one of the Weasley twins off his broom. Hermione had charmed their popcorn red and gold, and even Blaise, who insisted on being absolutely neutral, since Slytherin wasn’t playing, was eating it. Gwyo had hexed Crabbe to roar like a lion whenever Gryffindor scored a goal, and he did so with an extremely pained expression on his face.

Harry’s eyes were on the seekers. The Gryffindor seeker was clearly rubbish. He was not build for it, he seemed a bit clumsy, and he was aimlessly circling the pitch. Honestly, the snitch was  _ right ther _ e. But the Hufflepuff-seeker hadn’t spotted it either.

Harry felt a strange sensation in the nape of his neck, as if he was being watched, or threatened. He turned around and saw professor Quirrel glaring at him, and whispering something. He pulled his wards up, but a bit of whatever it had been that Quirrel was hexing him with still sipped through his defenses. He started coughing. He saw something red and then Gwyonarka was next to him. “Harry! What’s happening? Why are you bleeding?”, she shrieked. “Someone get Madame Pomfrey!”, she yelled and started floating Harry towards the hospital wing. 

Professor Snape looked at Harry, who started to shake now, then narrowed his eyes at the defense professor who was still muttering. Snape took out his wand and muttered every countercurse he knew of. He had warned Dumbledore of the man. “The problem with pessimists like me,” he thought to himself, “is that we’re usually right.”

  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Harry woke up in the infirmary, his head spinning and a foul taste in his mouth. 

He blinked and looked into the bespectacled face of non other than Albus Dumbledore. "I wonder if he really needs those or wears them for dramatic effect", Harry wondered, his mind still fuzzy.

"Good morning, my boy", the headmaster said, a twinkle in his eyes. Harry was confused by the moniker.

"Good morning, headmaster Dumbledore", he answered with a slightly chilly politeness.

"What happened?"

"Oh, you were cursed. A really mean curse at that, but I'm sure Madame Pomfrey will have you right as rain again in no time", Dumbledore answered and hummed.

"How was I cursed? And why? And by whom? Have you contacted my father?", Harry asked, confusion written on his face. The headmaster looked at him and sighed.

"I keep forgetting you look at Brogdrak as your father and are not talking about James", Dumbledore said, as if they had discussed this multiple times, even though this was Harry's first conversation with the wizard. 

"Professor Snape  _ insisted  _ on letting me know that he believed he saw his colleague professor Quirrel cursing you."

Harry furrowed his brow.

"I'm sorry, headmaster. I don't quite understand. Was he cursing me or not?"

Dumbledore folded his hands. 

"Well, I shan't say anything before I have properly looked into it. One can't accuse someone with no proof", the headmaster explained and gave Harry a sad smile.

"What do you mean no proof? I thought professor Snape saw him do it. What further proof is needed?", Harry asked, close to panicking. "Have you called the aurors? Have you informed Brogdrak?"

Dumbledore shook his head in silent disapproval.

"Harry, one can not judge someone on a hunch. Innocent until proven guilty. Well, one can not expect a child that has been in such an accident as yourself to understand. You are so unlike your father, even though you look like him. Except for the eyes. You have your mother's eyes."

Harry was more than a little upset with the condescending wizard before him. Of course he wasn't like his father, he was his own person. And on the few pictures he had seen of James Potter, the likeness was uncanny but not exactly unusual for people who were so closely related. Maybe if Harry cut his hair and put on the glasses he did not need anymore, thanks to the permanent contact lenses his father had custom made for him, he'd look more similar. Also, the headmaster had successfully distracted him from the matter at hand: the lax way he was dealing with a teacher who was trying to harm him. 

"Be that as it may, sir. My father is Brogdrak, and I want him here, so he can judge this situation. I am obviously in danger."

Dumbledore smiled at him lightly. 

"Are you afraid, mister Brogdrak's son? A capable young wizard such as yourself? I heard a great deal of good about your magical ability from your teachers", Dumbledore said with a mischievous grin.

"With all due respect, headmaster, I am an eleven year old  _ student _ ."

The elderly wizard nodded, seemingly in silent contemplation. 

"Yes, but you have endured more than most, and are capable of a lot more. A wise wizard always aims to live up to his full potential."

Harry began to think that some of the conspiracy theories were not all too far-fetched. 

"Alas, it is my duty as your headmaster to help you discover this for yourself. This is why I send you your cloak, Harry. It was given to me by your father. For safe-keeping."

Harry gaped at him. So, the Potter's family heirloom had been with Dumbledore this whole time. Interesting. 

"Well, until you  _ look into it _ , I will still see that my family is informed about what is going on.", Harry said coolly.

"Is that really wise, Harry? There is no need to worry your guardian. The situation is under control", replied the headmaster, still in his slightly irritating light tone of voice. Harry suddenly felt a warm feeling wash over himself. Maybe the headmaster was right. It did seem to be a bit exaggerated to call Brogdrak. He might worry. Also, Dumbledore seemed extremely  _ trustworthy.  _ Harry blinked and nodded.

"Yes, headmaster. You're quite right. I will try to solve this myself", Harry promised, before falling back asleep. 

Albus Dumbledore walked away to his office, humming.

When Harry had slightly recuperated, and was finally allowed visitors, Gwyonarka, Hermione, Draco and Blaise stormed to his bedside. (It was a Saturday, so Neville was spending time with his parents at Longbottom manor.)

"Harry! Jesus, we were worried sick!", exclaimed Hermione.

"Jesus? The one who broke the statute of secrecy and is now some type of muggle god?", Blaise asked. Hermione shushed him. "The statute of secrecy wasn't as important back then. Now please, Harry! Tell us what happened."

"Jesus was kind of cool, actually. I wonder how he did the walking on water thing", Harry said.

"I think it was some type of solidifying transformation", Hermione answered. She was easily distracted by academic riddles. One could see that she was planning on researching it later on. 

"Do you know who cursed you?", Gwyo asked, not as easily distracted. 

"Oh, it was probably Quirrel. Dumbledore is looking into it. Draco, did you bring me toffee? You're my favourite person right now. I haven't eaten sweets in a  _ week _ ", Harry said. 

Draco handed him the candy and smiled at him.

" _ Professor  _ Quirrel? Merlin, I just had DADA with him!", Blaise said, adequately shocked.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore is looking into it. Who won the Quidditch game?", Harry asked, mouth full of toffee.

Gwyonarka looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Harry, you're afraid of  _ trolls,  _ but you're not worried when your defense teacher attacks you? What is wrong with you?!"

"I am not  _ afraid of trolls _ . I just like them better from afar. Also, do you know the medical term for fear of trolls?"

"Trollphobia?", Blaise guessed.

"Common sense", Harry answered. Gwyo rolled her eyes. 

"You just deflected everyone's questions, Harry. You'll have to tell us what's going on eventually", Draco said.

"Wow, Draco, you just said something smart in front of Gwyonarka. Maybe you'll get her to smile at you more if you keep it up." Draco flinched. "Well. I'll see you later. I still have to finish my herbology essay", Draco mumbled and took off. 

"Harry, that was really mean. Not like you at all. What has gotten into you?", Hermione asked.

"I just don't want to talk about it, ok?", Harry snapped. His friends exchanged worried glances. 

"Ok, Harry, I think we will go back to the common room and study", Gwyo said, pushing everyone, including Blaise, who wasn't even a Gryffindor, to the door. Harry did not notice and waved them goodbye, devouring his sweets.

"Ok, we have to find out what is happening with Harry. Blaise, get Draco. There is something seriously wrong with Harry. I've known him half my life, and he's never like this. When he gets angry, he overreacts sometimes but that's usually him doing weird magic. Once when I hit him too hard during training, before he had gotten half-way decent, he apparated to his room. But he has never snapped at me like that", Gwyo said. 

They sat down in an abandoned alcove. Gwyonarka put up goblin-strength security wards.

Draco looked at her admiringly.

"Ok, so what do you think is going on?", Hermione asked.

"I have written to my mother about what happened at the quidditch game, and she never answered that specific letter. Do you think it might have been intercepted?", Gwyo asked.

Draco shook his head.

"Unlikely. There are very strong protections on the Hogwarts mail system. I think the headmaster himself us responsible for the post coming in and out of Hogwarts."

"What if he's in on it? If it were me, I'd have fired Quirrel. Or at least suspended him until the ministry does it's job", Blaise suggested. 

Hermione shook his head.

"Dumbledore can't be evil. It's not possible", Hermione said.

"I don't know where you take your unfounded, not at all evidence-based, confidence in authority from", Gwyo said.

"No! That's not it!", Hermilne exclaimed and blushed.

"He's in so many books. He defeated Grindelwald and was you-know-who's greatest foe. He is basically the leader of the good side", Hermione finished.

"The books also say that Harry is sone sort of story-book hero. "The boy who lived". I mean. He's a great friend usually, but he's not, I don't know, the infallible beacon of light or something. He  _ snores _ ", Draco said, as if it was final evidence of Harry's imperfection. 

"Ok, back to the topic at hand: someone meddled with Harry's mind. I'm pretty sure of it. He was cursed, now there's a sudden personality change", Gwyonarka stated.

"Just to play devil's advocate here: couldn't he just he traumatised by what happened?", Blaise asked no one in particular. 

"I don't know. I got to know Harry when he was six. He was under-fed, full of bruises and scrapes, and clearly traumatised. But he was never like this. And even if it was the trauma, I really think the headmaster should have informed his father", Gwyonarka said, frowning. 

"Maybe they did inform him, who says he doesn't know?", asked Blaise.

"He would be here. His father is, I don't know, a bit scary maybe, but he really cares about Harry."

"Ok. Then how do we contact Brogdrak? I mean, assuming that owls get intercepted", Draco said.

"What about Neville? he gets out of Hogwarts to see his parents once a week", Blaise suggested. 

"Or we could ask the Weasley terrors. They know how to get into Hogsmeade. Fred told me", Hermione said. Blaise narrowed his eyes. "Are you friends with Fred Weasley?", he asked. Hermione blushed. "Well, we sometimes talk about the forbidden corridor."

Blaise decided he liked the Neville-option better.

  
  


"Father, do you think Harry has forgotten about me?", Blarko asked Brogdrak. 

Brogdrak looked at him and lifted his brows. "Of course he hasn't. Why would you think that?"

Blarko looked at his feet. "Because I miss him a lot lately, but my bracelet is never warm. And he has not written in a while."

Brogdrak contemplated his son's thoughts. He did not get as much letters as usual from his son either lately, and the ones he had gotten seemed brief and a bit strange. 

"I really don't think he has forgotten about us, but I think there's something strange going on", Brogdrak said. "I'd like to know what it is. Have you written to Gwyonarka lately?", he asked his son. 

"I asked her after Harry last week, but she had not responded yet", Blarko answered sadly. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


"I think we should do the parcour", Hermione said to Fred and George Weasley. "To get it over with."

Fred looked at George. 

"We've actually already been there", George admitted. Hermione's eyes widened. "Ha! I suspected, but I wasn't sure", she said. "You dogs! Were you just letting me spout theories so you could laugh at me?", Hermione asked the twins. 

"What do you take us for? That would be devious", Fred smirked.

"Downright evil", George nodded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. Now out with it! What's going on up there?"

"Well ickle first-year, wouldn't you like to know?", George teased.

"Fine! I'll go there and find out myself!", Hermione said with an exasperated sigh.

"No need for such haste, fair lady", Fred said, grabbing her hand to stop her. She huffed. 

"Really, dear brother? She's  _ eleven _ ", George said and tutted. 

"I'm twelve, actually", Hermione said and crossed her arms. Fred grinned. 

"Well, we actually didn't finish the parcour. We got through the first few challenges alright, but our prat of a brother refuses to help us with the next step, and we're both pants at chess", George said. 

"What?! It's a game? Oh, I was so right about my theory. It's a learning game! Ha!", Hermione gloated and raised her fist in the air victoriously. 

"Do you, by any chance, play chess?", Fred asked hopefully. 

"No, but I'll just ask Gwyo for help. I think she likes to play occasionally. I don't know how good she is", Hermione said dismissively. "Now tell me about the rest of the challenges. What are they?" 

"The first one is a Cerberus. It falls asleep when you play music", George said. 

"The second one…", he started, "..Is a Devil's Snare", his brother finished.

"Oh, that means it's probably one for all the subjects! The first one is either care for magical creatures or history, because you have to research greek mythology to get through it. The second one is herbology. What's the third? Potions? Did you have to brew something?", Hermione asked excitedly. George shook his head. "We had to fly. You have to catch a key to a door", he said. " _ Quidditch  _ us one of the challenges?", Hermione scoffed. "Well, that's fine I  _ guess. _ " 

George shrugged. 

"Could've been charms. I mean they were charmed objects", Fred said.

"So are you on board with the whole "it's an academic game" theory now, esteemed brother?", George said sarcastically. 

"Well it does sound plausible", Fred said and stuck out his tongue.

"Ok, and the next one is wizarding chess? That might be transfiguration", Hermione thought aloud. 

"Maybe I  _ could  _ get through it if it's just about transfiguring the chess pieces", the girl wondered. 

"They're giant chess-pieces and you have to take their place to win. If not, they bonk you until you're out cold", Fred explained. 

"Are we planning to get booked on the head, Forge?", he asked George. "I think not, Gred", he answered.

Hermione hummed. 

"Let's ask Gwyo. She's really good at transfiguration. And if the next challenge is from the evil DADA professor, it's good to have her with us. I mean, who knows, maybe the "troll is guarding the parcour" conspiracy theory holds merit", Hermione said. 

"I can't imagine they'd put a troll there for the students", George said. "It would be awesome though", Fred added.

"Maybe the challenge is for upper years and they don't expect us to get this far", Hermione mused.

"Hey! At the ripe old age of thirteen, we should not be treated like kids!", George said. "Exactly, brother. We're  _ teenagers _ ", said Fred with a smug smile. Then he winked at Hermione. 

Parvati saw her blush and smirked.

"Uhm. I'm going to fetch Gwyonarka", Hermione said and fled into her dormitory, closely tailed by Parvati.

"Are you fancying Fred now? What about Blaise?", Parvati asked. 

Gwyo looked up from the letter she was writing and wiggled her brows. "Oh, have you found a new admirer?"

"Fred Weaaasley!", Parvati sing-song'd.

"Oh, Blaise will be absolutely devastated", Gwyonarka said in mock-disapproval. Hermione was now a properly Gryffindor-red in the face. "Well if Blaise was fancying me, he wasn't exactly  _ doing  _ anything about it, was he?", Hermione huffed.

"Oooh, did you want him to? Did you want him to  _ kiss _ you? Is that why you straightened your teeth?", Parvati asked and made smooching noises. Hermione opened her mouth, closed it again, and turned towards Gwyo. "So, Gwyo. How good are you at chess?", she asked. 

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

"I know how he did it", Blaise said and looked up from his book at Draco.

"How who did what?", Draco asked.

"How Jesus walked on water. It was an overpowered cooling-charm. I'm going to test it and then tell Hermione about it", he said, stood up immediately and walked into the general direction of Flitwick's office to ask him some questions. 

Draco shook his head. Everyone had gone mental lately. First Harry, now Blaise. It was a disgrace. 

Draco hoped that Harry would get better when Neville smuggled the letter to Harry's father, out of Hogwarts. Right now he was hard to talk to. He was doing his routines, sparring in the morning, classes, reading, eating a lot. But it felt as if someone had read a poor description of Harry and acted it out around them. He was still witty and a glutton, but it was like a broom charmed to fly by itself. And it seemed like he couldn't hold a thought for more than a minute. He was constantly bored with whatever he was doing if it took too long. Draco missed the usual Harry. If he went to his godfather to talk about it, would it help, he wondered?

Harry strutted in, playing with a snitch he had nicked from quidditch-club. Something about the way he was playing with it was eerily un-Harry-like. He looked a bit arrogant and his usual posture that looked more goblin-like for some reason, was somehow more careless. Harry went over to his desk and popped a toffee in his mouth. For some reason, that was the last straw for Draco. Maybe someone had polyjuiced as him. Maybe this Harry was an imposter. Draco left their room, which Harry barely acknowledged, and went knocking on professor Snape's door.

The man groaned audibly. "Yes?", he said and opened the door without really looking up from his desk.

"Hello, uncle Severus", Draco said. It was a slip-up, he had forgotten to address him as his professor since he had come to see him for personal reasons. The teacher closed the door and warded it. 

"Hello, Draco. How are you?", he asked, in a softer voice than usual.

"I'm fine. Well, no, I'm actually not fine. I'm concerned for my friend, Harry", Draco said and looked around for a second chair. There was none. Severus Snape drew one up into the air and it appeared in front of him. "Cool, how did you do that?", Draco asked. "It's a modified "accio". I learned it from the headmaster", Snape answered matter-of-factly.

"Ok so, I've noticed how you fo not exactly like Harry. But there's something weird about him lately", Draco explained. His godfather nodded.

"Yes. It is to be expected from someone who has been cursed, though", he said. "What makes you think it is cause for concern? Victims of trauma oftentimes show strange behaviour", he lectured. 

"Yes but… Well it feels like he's not even the same person anymore. Like he is just going through the motions. It's strange, like a moving picture, doing the same few things over and over again", Draco told the stern wizard. 

"This could still be trauma. Has he seen a mind-healer?", Severus Snape asked.

"No, I don't think so. And we're wondering why his father did not show up after the attempt on his life. It is not like him", Draco said.

"Also, he thinks that professor Quirrel was the one behind the attack, but he is still our teacher. So I don't know what is going on", Draco added lamely. His godfather's eyes glazed over. 

"Strange. I feel like you just said something important but I forgot about it instantly. Could you repeat that?", Severus asked Draco.

"Our defence teacher. He shouldn't be teaching us if he harmed Harry", Draco said, slightly panicked by his godfather's behaviour. 

A concentrated expression came over the professor's face. 

"There was a compulsion to forget about Quirrel on me. That is quite concerning, actually. I'm an occulmens. It shouldn't be possible to do such a thing to me. There's only two wizards who could manage it, and one of them should be dead", Severus Snape said angrily.

"Tell me about Brogdrak's son. What has changed, exactly?"

"Well, just now he was playing with a snitch, and I don't know how else to put it, strutting around in our room. He looked like someone else entirely. And he snapped at me and his other best friend when we asked about professor Quirrel. Also, his attention span is shorter than usual and he's just, I don't know, acting like Ron Weasley or something", Draco explained. He sounded pained. The true reason Wesley's bigotry bothered him so was that, not long ago, he had held very similar opinions, if not slightly worse. His buas had not been against death eater children, of course, but he had had some very questionable beliefs about pure blood superiority. 

Professor Snape nodded. "Send him to my office. I will check his mind for any compulsions similar to mine, and for polyjuice", he said.

Draco exhaled. 

"Thank you so much, uncle Severus", he said and rushed out to find Harry. 

Harry was still in their room, but he had stopped playing with the snitch and had cut off his long hair with his goblin-knife. He looked awful. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and it looked si distinctly un-goblin-like. "Harry, you have to come with me to professor Snape's office immediately", he painted, and pulled at his knife-free hand.

"Oh, hey Draco. Do you like my new hair? I was thinking of replacing my contact lenses with glasses, I just think it would fit me better", the boy babbled.

When they arrived in professor Snape's office, the man blanched as he looked at Harry. He seemed as if he was having a nightmare. "Potter", he said. And when Harry smirked and nodded, Draco was finally absolutely sure that the boy was not himself. 

Snape stood up, lifted his wand and uttered a spell into the direction of Harry's head. His face slackened. 

"What happened? What did I do?", Harry asked Draco. He reached for his head. A pained moan escaped him when he made contact with his brand-new fringe.

"Professor Snape! Please tell me what happened!", he begged.

"You were under the compulsion to act like someone's memory if your late father. Not Brogdrak, the other one", Snape replied flatly. Then he went over to his desk. He took out a bottle of firewhiskey, eyed it longingly, and put it back again without opening it.

"I will escort you and mister Malfoy to Hogsmeade and contact your respective parents. I don't think you're complete safe at Hogwarts at the moment", Snape muttered. Then he accompanied the boys to their dorm, where they packed their trunks and Draco's owl. Then, without further ado, Snape turned on his heel. "Take your brooms, please. We're flying. I can't risk any other means of transportation." 

"A minute, please", Harry said. He concentrated and send conjured a silvery snake. Then he told it to find Gwyonarka and tell him about their departure. 

Gwyonarka, meanwhile, did not get the message immediately, because she was at that very moment, un-transfiguring a giant game of chess. Just when she was done, the snake smashed against the security wards on the third corridor and disappeared. Hermione, Fred, George and Gwyo entered a room with a massive, angry troll. Gwyo grinned and transformed her hairpin-slash-wand into a giant sword.

Fred whistled approvingly, until he realised that this would get him the trolls attention. Hermione was cowering against the wall. George looked green in the face. The troll stank like eight Quirrels. He had a club roughly the size of Hermione and shook it threateningly at the children. Gwyo did an elegant turn and growled. She planned to jump up his back and behead him swiftly and as painlessly as possible. Yes, she wanted to slay him, but she wasn't one for unnecessary cruelty. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Troll skin is nearly unbreakable", George yelled. 

The creature turned towards them. 

Hermione shrieked. "Wingardium Leviosa!", she screamed and floated the troll's club over his head, like she had learned in class. Then she dropped it. With a loud boom, the club landed on the it and the hurt creature moaned painfully. 

With one blow, Gwyonarka beheaded it.

"Was that necessary, Hermione? I wanted to make it quick. And I wanted to keep the head, now it's all smushed", Gwyo complained. The boys looked at each other in disbelief. 

"Look, this was a learning opportunity for all of us. I made it easier for you to behead him, ok?", Hermione huffed.

"I wanted to do it as painlessly as possible", Gwyonarka whined.

"Fine! Next time we're facing a mountain troll I'm not helping you!", Hermione snapped. The four of them went into the next room. After they had entered, flames lit up behind them. On a table, there was a piece of paper and a few bottles. 

"Ah! I bet this is the potions challenge!", George exclaimed. He had forgotten to protest Hermione's theories by now. 

Hermione grabbed the parchment. Her face lit up. "Oh! It's a puzzle! I like those!", she said. "Let me see", said Fred and smoothly sat down right next to her on the floor, reading over her shoulder. She blushed again, which happened quite often lately. They argued about the instructions, but agreed in the end. It was a logical puzzle and they were quite sure which one did what. "Ok, that's great. But I don't think there's enough in it to get all of us to the other side", Fred remarked. 

Gwyonarka smelled the bottle that held the potion that could get them through the flames safely. "Well it smells like a liquid cooling charm. I think I could trick my usual one into working for this fire", she said.

George looked at her and sighed. How were these girls so good at everything? It made no sense whatsoever. 

"Ok, so I will cast cooling charms on all of us except Hermione. In case something goes wrong,", she said. "Wait, what?", George asked slightly panicking. "In case something goes wrong, Hermione who took the proper potion can go back and get a teacher", she said.

"How high are the chances it might go wrong, oh wise firstie? I'd like to know if I'll burn to a crisp or not", Fred asked.

"I mean I was always the more handsome one of us, but I quite agree with my brother", George said.

"Minuscule chances of getting even a little crispy. So, are you Gryffindors or mice?", Gwyonarka asked sweetly. 

They eventually agreed on the goblin girl's plan. It was like liquid ice for them. It took a lot of courage to walk into the flames. On the other side, there was a quiet room. There was nothing in it, except for a mirror.

Gwyonarka was the first to step in front of it. "Ok, that is a pretty mirror. It does smell of magic. But I actually don't see anything but me. Wait, I look older. And I have really cute puppy. Cool! Do you think it shows the future?", Gwyo asked excitedly. 

Hermione stepped in front of it and choked. 

"I.. I don't think this is the future, even though I wouldn't mind if it was", Hermione said. "Because my parents will probably still be muggles in the future and have the average life-expectancy", she said sadly.

"I think it's a prank. A mean one", Fred said. "Come on, let me see", he said.

Fred gently pushed Hermione away from the mirror. "I need to find out what this is for, so that I can distract Hermione from being sad and we can get out of here", he thought to himself. His reflection, that had been snogging Hermione for a second, stopped doing so, winked at him and showed him a stone. Then it put it into his pocket. Just when it finished doing so, Fred felt it's weight in his real pocket. He reached into it and held the stone.

"Cool! What is it?", George asked.

"No idea", Fred answered. 

Gwyonarka sniffed it. "Smells like potent magic. Do you think figuring out what it does is part of the challenge?"

Bocketing and laughing, the Gryffindors returned to their common room. 

"Oh, let's not tell anyone about it, okay? Not until we figured it out", Fred begged on a hunch. 

"But I think we earned bragging rights!", George said. 

"I mean you figured out the mirror, so it's your call", Gwyo, who wouldn't have minded bragging rights either, answered. 

"Oh. But we'll tell someone eventually, right? It could mean extra house points", Hermione said. Fred grinned. It had been a great distraction. 

"Soon, but let's finish it first", he said. Everyone mumbled their agreement. It was a school night and soon, everyone was off to their bedrooms. Fred put the stone under his pillow and fell asleep, a smile on his face. 


	13. Chapter 13

Blaise felt on top of the world. He had managed it! Professor Flitwick had given him a special permission slip for the perfect's bathroom for his voluntary research and Blaise had finally done it. He was able to walk on water. It was finicky and his feet had gotten extremely cold, but it was absolutely possible. "Walk" may not have been the appropriate term for what he was doing, but he could kind of stomp over the water and make a little ice-board appear that carried him, not unlike a muggle surfboard. 

He had very cold feet and stopped the experiment. Conveniently, he could take a hot bath right after. It was very satisfying to do what Jesus had done to impress so many muggles back then. 

He hoped Hermione would be pleased when he told her about it. Maybe he could show her how to do it on the lake. 

Blaise hummed when he got back to the dormitory, just to find it empty and unnaturally tidy. 

Blaise looked around. Not only were Draco and Harry gone without a trace, Draco's owl and both of their trunks had left with them. Blaise went into the common room. 

"Hey, has someone seen Draco and Harry?", he asked. Nobody said anything. Tracy was knitting and Crabbe and Goyle were playing exploding snap. Some students had already gone to bed.

Blaise went to their head of house's office, just to find it locked. Blaise paced the corridors. It was right after curfew, so going out of the Slytherin area was not much of an option. Maybe it counted as an emergency? 

Blaise sat down on his bed, staring at the wall for an other twenty minutes. Then he snuck out to find professor Flitwick.

He nearly ran into Filch, but he managed a narrow escape with the impatient man who would probably have kept him from his mission. 

Flitwick was still in his office when Blaise knocked. He opened the door when he heard a strained welcome, just to find the half-goblin doing backflips in the middle of his enlarged office. 

"Professor?", he asked tentatively, "can I come in?"

Flitwick stopped doing what he was doing and sat down on the floor. "Of course, mr. Zabini. Please do. Where your experiments successful?", he asked, friendly as usual, if slightly out of breath.

Blaise nodded. "Yes, but that's not what I came here to talk about. I was wondering if you knew where Draco Malfoy, Harry Brogdrak's son and professor Snape are?", he asked the short man. 

"I do not. Are they not in their rooms?", Flitwick wondered. Then he looked at the boy again. "I'm sorry, of course they're not, or else you wouldn't be here. Let me accompany you to Severus' office. He might be in, sometimes he is doing something where he doesn't want to get disturbed and wards the doors a bit too thoroughly", Flitwick told Blaise, and together they walked to the Slytherin dungeons, Flitwick greeting Filch cheerfully. The man glared at Blaise. "You're the student I nearly caught sneaking out after curfew!", he bellowed. 

"Now please, Argus, the boy is with me and did not have any intention of making trouble", Flitwick said.

Filch grumbled and started polishing a portrait-frame that looked as if it didn't need it. 

Snape's office was as Blaise had found it the first time: closed. Flitwick knocked, checked the wards, found them not unusual, and continued with Blaise to see his dorm. The remaining Slytherins in the common room were taken aback by Flitwick entering. Even though a teacher, he was a Ravenclaw and it was very unusual to see a professor from an other house enter the Slytherin dungeons. After Flitwick had performed a few locator-spells on Draco and Harry's beds, he shook his head. "They are not on school grounds, mr. Zabini. We'll have to inform the headmaster", he said gravely.

"No! Don't inform the headmaster!", Blaise shrieked. "Can't you just inform their parents?", he asked hopefully. 

Flitwick gave him a confused look. "Well, I could do that, too. But a teacher us missing, so I'm going to inform Albus", Flitwick stated. Blaise shrank in despair.

"Mister Zabini, may I ask why you seem so stressed by the idea of telling the headmaster what is going on?", the short man asked.

"We don't exactly trust him", Blaise said carefully. 

Flitwick nodded slowly. "Well I know the headmaster can be a bit overwhelming, especially for the Slytherin students. You don't have anything to worry about, Blaise. I'm sure Albus Dumbledore won't hurt you or your friends." 

Blaise nodded defeatedly and went back to his empty dorm. It seemed colder than usual and way too quiet. 

"Neville, are you okay? You look a bit shaken", Hermione asked her friend. 

"I'm fine", he answered mechanically. Then he slumped. 

"I'm not actually fine. My parents are getting divorced", he said, looking at his feet. 

"Oh no! But why?", Hermione asked in shock. They had just "woken", so to speak, she couldn't imagine what could've driven them apart so fast.

"It's a bit complicated. My grandmother is not the easiest person to be around. And my dad is a squib now, which, well, is not exactly something she is good at dealing with. She's constantly pitying him. And she criticizes my mum for the most benign things. It's actually how she always treats me, Herms. I think that's why I'm such a mess", he said, tears beginning to form in his eyes. 

"You're not a mess, Neville. You're a very kind and loyal boy. And you absolutely saved your parents from a life at saint Mungo's", Hermione said.

"Thanks. You're a good friend, Hermione", Neville sniffled. 

"Is that why they broke up? Couldn't they just have moved?", she asked.

"No, that's not all of it. My father is really stressed by grandma. And he gets a bit apathetic and slightly cold or even mean with mum. And she says she is not in the right state of mind to help him get better all selflessly and such when she is actually also still recovering. They both have awful nightmares. My mum wants to get an apartment in Hogsmeade, so that she can see me more often. I think its n..nice", Neville said and started sobbing again. Hermione wrapped him into a hug.

"Oh Neville. It will get better. I'm sure it will get better."

"You must think me ungrateful. I get the chance to have my parents back and I'm whinging about them", Neville said. 

"No, I don't think you're ungrateful. Not at all. These things are hard and healing takes time", she said. "But it gets better."

"How do you know?", the sad boy asked her. "Read it in a book", she answered without pause. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> I messed up with Brogdrak's name several times, which means my autocorrect, which is roughly 80% of my spell-check, knows three different ways of writing it now.  
> I'll try to be better.  
> The correct spelling is "Brogdrak".  
> I hope you're enjoying this fic :)

Severus Snape looked at the imposing figure of Brogdrak. He was not taller than his eleven year old son, but anyone who had a basic understanding of how power worked could feel that this goblin man was not to be trifled with. 

"This Quirrel person goes before the goblin-court, not your farce of a judicial system. He hurt my son. This is goblin domain", he snarled. 

Severus Snape nodded. He secretly agreed on Brogdrak's assessment of wizard court, especially the wizengamot. Severus liked being close to power, he wasn't ashamed to admit it. That was what initially had driven him to follow the Dark Lord. Dumbledore was a powerful man, but he was obviously losing his edge if he needed to meddle with school children's brains. And he was head of the wizengamot. He always had seemed like the fearless leader of the light. When Severus had been a young man, he had been so full of anger and pain. Harry was lucky to have a father like Brogdrak. It was easy to follow whoever gave you a sense of belonging. For Severus, it had been his dangerous friends and later the Dark Lord. For Harry, if Brogdrak had not adopted him, with being raised by the Dursleys, it could've easily been Dumbledore. Someone to follow blindly. When he was young, Severus had often mistaken approval of his usefulness for love. Some of his little snakes were so hungry for it. Bad childhoods bred Slytherins. Most eleven year-olds didn't have to be cunning in order to survive. They didn't need the skill-set that would land them in Slytherin. Courage and loyalty, well those were good values, but having courage when you were never rewarded for it and being loyal to people when your trust had been broken multiple times by the people you were closest to was hard. Seeking out knowledge was never amiss, no matter your home situation, but Filius and Pomona had far less children in dire need of something a teacher couldn't really give them. It had made Severus quite bitter to see so many children each year, not unlike himself, and not really being able to help them. He had closed off his heart to their struggles years ago, just to not constantly feeling their pain. Being head of house Slytherin meant, basically, to show that you were not to be messed with and that you were on their side against the children who had been lucky enough to get sorted into Gryffindor, the house that had the most privileged and self-righteous children from good families, muggle or not. There were others, of course. There were Gryffindors with tragic backstories and struggles. But they were not  _ his _ . Severus Snape's loyalty lay with the snakes. Something Harry had said about his father echoed in Severus mind.  _ He's never mean for no reason. _ Neville had been terrified of him. But the boy's parents, as he should have known, had been tortured by Bellatrix and his grandmother had never been the nurturing kind, apparently. No, picking victims by house-affiliation was a flawed plan. Dumbledore had urged him to be openly antagonistic towards children from light families in case the Dark Lord had not been vanquished by a toddler. It had seemed like a sound premise at the time. 

The thing with Dumbledore was that he had this air of unpredictability around him, helped by his dramatics and silly behaviour. It was too easy to lose track of where the calculated quirks ended and where actual irresponsibility began. Letting Quirrel teach just didn't make any sense. Harry Potter had joked to Draco that "maybe he is trying to make me fight him, and have me fill the vacant position of figurehead for the light side", and Severus wondered if that was what Dumbledore  _ was _ trying to do. And this compulsion on Harry. Had Albus just thought "close enough", and hoped nobody would figure it out? It was just so lazy a plot. 

"I will get some enforcement from the horde. I have some friends on the force", Blordak told Severus, who was still brooding over his loyalties. 

"Sir, are you planning to storm Hogwarts with goblin soldiers?", Severus exclaimed.

"Yes, I do, professor", Brogdrak answered calmly. 

"That could mean war, mister Brogdrak", Severus remarked. 

"The wizards harmed a Goblinian child through either neglectful incompetence or intentionally. Albus Dumbledore, as a representative for the wizengamot, failed to extract Quirinius Quirrel from Hogwarts after an attempt on my son's life. This can be treated as an act of war by us. We will settle on taking the criminal professor with us. Dumbledore will answer to his peers at the ministry.", Brogdrak said, without giving away how he felt about a war between goblin and wizard-kind. 

Harry stormed in, clearly having been eavesdropping on the conversation. 

"Father! You can't start a war on my behalf! I'm not even  _ hurt _ !", he screamed, in an uncharacteristically high voice.

"Harry. Calm yourself. This is not what a dignified Goblinian behaves like. Think. If it was Gwyonarka or Blarko, would you agree to my solution?", Brogdrak asked his son. Harry's face fell. He stood there quietly and then nodded slowly. 

"Are you a victim, Harry?", he asked.

Harry straightened his back.

"I am no victim."

"Who are you, then?"

"I am Harry, son of Brogdrak. I bow to no-one but the gods", Harry answered, determination on his face.

Severus was reluctantly impressed with Brogdrak's parenting skills. He had to remember that trick: pick a loved one and imagine them in your situation, then choose the appropriate reaction. 

"I think it would probably not lead to an outright war. But you will antagonize Albus Dumbledore. He is a powerful political player, even if he is headmaster of a school. Are you sure that is wise?", Severus asked Brogdrak. 

"Harming a goblin child is an offence to all goblins, professor Snape. I will leave my son in your care and start the operation immediately, if you are willing to help", Brogdrak said and challengingly looked at Severus. It was obviously a strategic move, the eleven year old boy was more than capable of staying at home on his own for a few hours, especially in the middle of Goblinia, highly warded neutral territory. It was an offer for Severus to make himself Brogdrak's ally. 

This would mean distancing himself from Dumbledore. If the Dark Lord was indeed back, which was not unlikely, this could mean multiple things. Given that Harry Brogdrak's son was reason for Goblinia to start a war with wizarding Britain just for a curse, the goblins might be a third force in the war against the Dark Lord, who would definitely go after the child. The question was how much trust Severus put into a prophecy he had once heard about the boy  _ born to parents who had thrice defied him _ . The Dark Lord had marked Harry as his equal. Did that mean that helping Brogdrak to  _ keep _ Harry from fighting the Dark Lord was futile? The boy was only eleven now. Until he was old enough to reasonably be able to fulfil a prophecy that may or may not be his true destiny, it was probably safest to stick with the side that had the moral high ground. This was in all probability in this particular case Brogdrak's. It also had the advantage of protecting his dead friend Lily's son, which he had vowed to do. 

"I will do so, and ask my friend Lucius Malfoy for his support, regarding your endeavor."

Harry looked at him with a pensive look on his face, as if trying to re-evaluate him.

Brogdrak nodded, satisfied with Severus' answer.

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions child abuse, described by someone who downplays domestic violence. Skip over everything from Dumbledore's perspective if this could trigger you, I think the story will still work without his introspective.
> 
> Yes, I made my typo from earlier into Brogdrak's last name. I thought it was funny :3

"It doesn't count when you're already planning your defeat!", Gwyonarka said and rolled her eyes at Hermione, who had taken her up on the offer to train her in combat. 

"I am honestly doing my best! My muscles just give out after a while. They start twitching and then I'm lying down involuntarily", Hermione claimed, panting. 

Gwyonarka sighed. "Well I can't really expect much from you on your first try. I miss Harry terribly, but I don't want to take it out on you."

Hermione kneeded her smarting calves. She had always been the bookish sort, but since Gwyonarka seemed so depressed about Harry not being there, she pretended to want to spar. She had also been under the false assumption that _a bit of training couldn't hurt, could it?_ Well, yes, it could. Hermione was sweaty and out of breath and really looking forward to a nice, hot shower. The last few days had been eventful. Brogdrak had stormed Hogwarts with the horde, the goblin-aurors, as Gwyo had put it. They had taken professor Quirrel with them as a prisoner. The ministry of magic and Dumbledore realised to late what was going on, and somehow the daily prophet had found out about it begore them. A writer named Rita Skeeter was running her mouth about the incompetence of Albus Dumbledore as well as writing opinion pieces that put goblins in an unfavourable light. One had to admit she was smart about it. She never outright accused, she just _suggested_. Gwyonarka was furious about it and even though Hogwarts was a bit of an ivory tower, anti-goblin sentiment were whispered in the halls. Especially the Slytherins had apparently taken it upon themselves to be as openly racist as possible. Harry wasn't there to reign them in, Draco was also not back at Hogwarts yet, and was Blaise was silently brooding in the dorm most of the time. He was still miffed about something, probably a bit jealous of the time she was spending with Fred. 

Harry was to return after the public conference of the horde, the wizengamot and the ministry about the prisoner and the status of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. 

  
  
  
  
  


The very same headmaster was currently in his office, stress-eating muggle candy. At first, his sweet tooth had been a calculated quirk, something to endear him to muggle-borns and strengthen his image as an eccentric, wise grandfather-figure with all wizards. But it had become a dear habit, that rush of unpacking the smooth plastic and tasting the chemical sweetness of odd things. Today was not a good day. It hadn't been a good day for a week now. Harry Potter had turned out to be so much more of a problem than he had expected. He had counted on the boy coming to Hogwarts a timid but curious little thing in need of parental guidance, which he, Molly and Minerva would've happily provided. He had known that Petunia and Vernon Dursley were not exactly the _best_ choice for guardians, but he had not expected them to abuse the boy quite so harshly. It had been obvious that they would not spoil him like their own son, but that wouldn't have served anyone's purposes, especially not Harry. The young wizard, after all, was born to experience hardships. There was no way around it, really. So it would not have done him any good to grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth. And a spanking every now and then, well, he had gotten his fair share back in the days, and he had turned out fine, hadn't he? 

(The rhetorical question went unanswered as he continued chewing something that popped in his mouth. Muggles really made fascinating things happen without magic.)

The headmaster adjusted his glasses and re-read the letter that Brogdrak and the horde had sent him for the twelfth time. He had to figure this goblin out. 

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_We have taken your defense professor Quirinius Quirrel with us to be tried in goblin court. He harmed my son, a known Goblinian. We will refrain from regarding this an act of war against us, but he can not escape our justice._

_You, as his employer, will have to answer to your own people. We have already informed the ministry and wizengamot of your mistake, and hope that this crisis will be solved swiftly._

_On a more personal note from me, Brogdrak:_

_I am appalled by your incompetence. Not only have you left my son with abusive muggles, you have let him come to harm under your care again in a manner that seems almost deliberate. I have spent some years raising my son, not enough to repair the damage that your negligence has caused. But I have wondered if that was all it was: negligence. Could you be so forgetful a man, I wondered, that you forgot about a boy that wizarding Britain has made into an icon as a mere babe? I have doubts, headmaster Dumbledore. I don't quite trust that image you push of yourself. I see someone who has figured out the most influential positions in the wizarding world and took them all. Someone smart enough to know that the power lies not with a figurehead like minister Fudge. And then I see someone dumb enough to put compulsions on a Goblinian, so obvious that an eleven year old could figure them out. And someone who would alienate a man like Severus Snape by doing the same to him. Unlike the teacher in question, I have no doubts it was you who compelled him. The Dark Lord may or may not have come back, but to make Severus Snape forget about Quirrel_ after _he had already told you about the incident seems like a move that would serve you more than any Dark Lord._

_I have pondered that name lately, "The Dark Lord". Does it fit Voldemort still, do you think? The names we give things, they are so important. You-know-who, He-who-must-not-be-named, The Dark Lord. All names that inspire fear. "Headmaster", not so much, wouldn't you say? If your name were "The Dark Lord" in Warketh after endangering children on purpose by keeping an unstable man like Quirinius Quirrel in your employ, who has, plainly and obviously, a parasite sticking out of his head, not unlike the one I had to rid my son off, I might add, would it astound you? I don't fear you, headmaster, not really. But to have someone like you in charge of the wizarding world's future, it's children, well it is a frightful thought._

_If you want to face me and offer me a different explanation, feel free to send me an owl._

_We, the horde, will negotiate everything else with the ministry and the wizengamot._

_Signed,_

_Brogdrak, Blordak's son and_

_Berthok of The Horde_

It sounded so bad if you put it like that. But all he had done had been for the greater good. He, Albus, was no Dark Lord. The cost of war was so much higher than a few bruises on one child, or even a few bruises on other children's psyches. 

What bothered Dumbledore most was the fact that Brogdrak was right about something important. He had been stupid. He had compelled Harry Potter to be more like his father, and his mind had been a little _too_ suggestable. It might've been a side effect of the parasite that Brogdrak removed. 

This was news to him. He had, of course, known that the Dark Lord had not been fully defeated, because of the prophecy. It hadn't quite fit. "Neither can live while the other survives", well, Harry had survived, hadn't he? 

The parasite that had marred Harry Potter's soul had seemed like an anchor for his return. And the one Quirrel had brought with him from his travels, well. It had been the perfect opportunity to train Harry Potter. This version of Voldemort was still weak, still defeatable by a few determined first-year heroes. You shouldn't underestimate children. They were often wise beyond their age or even more creative in their solutions to problems than grown wizards were. 

The first thing he had to do was to convince the wizengamot that he was still a capable headmaster. Nothing was more essential than that. The rest of his titles were important, but his influence went beyond those. You had to convince people, not courts. And to be the headmaster of Hogwarts meant to have access to all the young minds that would be grown wizards in the blink of an eye. Even the ones who didn't like him could never shake the feeling that he was an authority, because it was ingrained in their brains from the age of eleven. Brogdrak was wrong. "Headmaster" was a title that inspired fear in some.

There was one big problem. The goblins had Harry Potter. Would the boy return if he, Albus, was still headmaster?


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the consequences of the abuse Harry had to endure are discussed. He is struggling with his self-esteem and still on the way to healing. Brogdrak is doing the whole parenting-thing pretty well. Enjoy!

"I got a letter from the headmaster, Harry", Brogdrak told his son without giving away his feelings towards it.

Harry tried not to fidget in his excitement, unconsciously imitating his father.

"What did he want?", Harry asked.

Brogdrak looked at him, a bit pensive. 

"He wanted to talk to me. And it sounded as if he wanted you to return to Hogwarts soon", Brogdrak answered. 

Harry nodded. 

"It is wonderful to be back in Goblinia, and it is good to see Donark and Blarko. I missed them so much. But I find myself drawn to the school, too. Gwyonarka stayed and I have made friends there", Harry explained. 

With every day that passed, he found himself longing for the excitement of boarding school. Yes, there had been awful things happening. When his father had told him about the extraction of professor Quirrel's parasite, it had turned his stomach. The man had barely survived, even under goblin care, and was currently at a mind-healer facility. (They had not jailed the man, for obvious reasons. He had obeyed the parasite in a manner that was almost certainly unnatural. It would take a few months just to free the man from the side effects of the constant compulsions, not mentioning the toll it had taken on his self-worth and psyche. They had had to purify his blood of the unicorn-blood that had kept the parasite alive. It had been gruesome and painful. In a way, Quirinius Quirrel had been lucky. Had he been tried in the wizarding world, he wouldn't have stood a chance.)

But even with everything going on, even with Albus Dumbledore, Harry wanted to return. Inexplicably, Hogwarts had a strange thrall. Was it the old magic? The ghosts? The history? Harry could not say. He even felt a strange connection to his birth-parents when he was there. It had become a second home. 

"There is an other thing I need to talk to you about, son. We need to work on your mind's defenses. A light compulsion to behave like an image Albus Dumbledore had in mind should not have had such an impact. We were lucky that it did, so that Draco and Gwyonarka could pin-point the changes, but on a healthy boy your age, a light compulsion should not cause changes so drastic", Brogdrak explained. 

"My mind is not broken!", Harry snapped. He was _no victim_. Brogdrak himself had made sure that Harry knew as much.

"Of course it is not, Harry. You are a strong boy. You are my son. I just want you to train and heal from the thing that has weakened your defense. I suspect that the parasite that I removed left a wound inside you, a small one, but one that will make you vulnerable if left untreated. But even without it, the scars left by the Dursleys are not to be underestimated. Someone who had to obey adults or get hurt, like you did, might fall into the trap of subconsciously fulfilling the expectations of any adult around them. I have wondered if I was clear enough about that myself. I know I am a strict parent. I know that I expect a lot from you. I just hope that you know that you should never obey anyone blindly. Not even me. You bow to no-one but the gods", he said and lay his hand on Harry's shoulder. 

Harry felt his eyes sting. It was hard. It was hard and it wasn't _fair_ that this had happened to him. That it had weakened him. The mind-healer he had seen had told him that it had also given him strength and resiliency and that he had all that it took to be a great warrior if he chose so. But Harry would've given it all away for a childhood with Blarko and Brogdrak. And now this. A wound in his armour. His mind a chipped cup. "Patience" the mind healer had told him. Patience with his own healing. But he was eleven years old and he had no patience and why did he gave to? Gwyonarka had no patience. But she didn't need it, either. No maniacs had killed her birth-parents, no parasites invaded her mind. Harry felt dirty somehow. Like it had tainted him as a baby. It was not his fault, he knew that, but somehow, it felt like it was still something that had branded him. Something that meant that he _had_ to be a warrior, a survivor. That he had to face challenges. That the monsters targeted him. Quirrel had done so, had seen Harry and thought "victim". And Dumbledore had also seen it. Had seen that, somehow, this eleven year old was not to be protected, but tested, a soldier, a weapon, an outsider destined to fight.

"No,", Harry whispered. "I am no victim."

Brogdrak nodded.

"You're my son. And you bow to no-one but the gods."

This, Harry thought, this could be his mantra during meditation. And with the help of his friends and his family, his enemies would crumble, like the parasites already had, and Dumbledore would have to see that he was a headmaster and not a chess-player. And that he, Harry, son of Brogdrak, was no chess-piece.

Even if it meant having to fight the boredom that meditation and occlumency brought. 

  
  


Malfoy manor was a wonderful place if you liked marble and peacocks and _being bored out of your mind_. 

Draco was close to starting a fight with some portraits. Had they always been so narrow-minded? It was torture. He was locked in a place where small-talk consisted of "What a lovely day, heir Draco. When will you return to Hogwarts? Is it still full of mudblood-filth? Oh, how we enjoyed muggle-hunting back in the day. Do they still allow abominations like hakf-creatures in? That headmaster, oh my." 

It was awful. Godfather Snape came by from time to time, handed him homework and letters. Who would have thought that _homework_ would be the best thing about his day? Even his owl was bored. Harry had written and told him that he was planning on returning to Hogwarts, even with Dumbledore still in charge. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy-Black were still discussing Draco's return. Father was giving him merciless occlumency lessons, and Draco's head hurt just thinking about it. Privacy was apparently not a mercy bestowed upon Malfoy-heirs. Lucius Malfoy had gone straight for the jugular. "To motivate you, Draco. You will protect your most intimate thoughts better than the ones that you don't mind me seeing."

It was painfully humiliating. Every thought about kissing Gwyo, every self-doubt and weakness, his father found and attacked. 

Draco wondered about that. His father was still spouting blood-surpremacy sentiment every chance he got. How did this fit with him not challenging Draco's reasoning against it when he saw it in his mind? His father had once explained that legilimency did not mean that you could read a mind like a book. That it was more like walking into a museum. Images and memories. Not feelings as such. But still, father had seen that his son was spending time with muggle-borns and half-goblins. What was going on in his mind? 

  
  


The truth was that Lucius Malfoy, even though proudly a blood-surpremacist did simply not care. Half-goblins as friends weren't bad. He had all his money at gringot's. There was a reason that Malfoy heirs traditionally learned Warketh while still in school. And he had not seen Draco's fantasies of kissing Gwyonarka. Only the memories of her face. Had he known about Draco's schoolboy crush, he would've disregarded it. When the time came to find a proper wife or husband, the boy would see sense and choose a respectable witch or wizard from the sacred twenty-eight. As for Hermione Granger, had Lucius Malfoy known that the girl was a muggle-born, he would've raised hell. But the ugly truth was that _no-one could see the difference._ Lucius Malfoy assumed a relation to the Dagworth-Grangers. The girl had the olive skin and curly hair that would fit their Greek heritage. (Hermione was actually half Iranian, but the truth was that _no-one could see the difference_ ) 

So Lucius Malfoy could still hold on to his biases, firmly and obliviously. He still believed his son to be absolutely loyal to his beliefs.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, kids are discussing racism and abusive homes. If you might be triggered by this, skip to the last paragraph. It's about Ron being oblivious and jealous and secretly having a teeny tiny crush on Hermione.  
> There is some slightly abelist and sexist language there. The words "stupid" and "slag" are used in a negative way. Ron is eleven and learned his way of thinking from his yellow-press loving mother. He's just being a child.
> 
> If you want to know what happened, I will summarise the parts that might be triggering and give you the info you need to continue reading at the beginning of the next chapter, so that there will be no spoilers.

"Harry will come back soon, but is still training with his dad. He's getting remedial occlumency", Gwyonarka sighed and listlessly stirred her black tea that had already been so thoroughly stirred that there couldn't possibly be even a single grain of sugar in it not absorbed by the brew. 

Blaise nodded. "Draco is still stuck with his racist family until further notice. They're discussing sending Draco to Durmstrang", he groaned.

"That must be awful, being stuck at home with people like that", Hermione said.

Lavender, who had joined their group of inter-house-unity-miscreants with Parvati, nodded furiously. "It is. Half my family is latino, and they still manage to be racist against black people. It's awful."

Hermione looked at her and stopped ripping her toast to shreds.

"Huh. Now that you mention it, my grandfather is anti-semitic. I'm glad I only see him at Christmas."

"What is 'anti-semitic' ?" Neville asked Hermione. 

"It's a muggle thing. They opress Jews. It is something that Christians have been doing since the middle ages."

Neville nodded.

"That's so awful. I know about Christians and Jews, they were in a history book in our library. They're religious people", he added.

"In muggle Germany, around the same time that Grindelwald was trying to achieve pure-blood supremacy, a muggle named Hitler was doing the same thing the muggle way. It was a genocide. Muggle Britain was at war with them for this reason ", Hermione explained. 

Neville paled. He had known about the muggle-war. His grandmother had told him about the bombs. It had been so big that even the wizarding world was shaken. But Grindelwald had been the more urgent matter. 

"There's also racism, but not like in the wizarding world where there's actual races. It's against people who are of different skin-colour or have facial features that indicate that their family might not be fully British. I am white-passing, but my brother is not. He looks more Colombian than me. My mum has brown skin", Lavender explained. 

"Wow, muggles are just as bad as us. My grandmother always told me that only wizards were so foolish", Neville muttered. 

Blaise laughed. 

"Yeah your grandmother would say something like that. I once heard her lecturing my mum at a party. Seemed as if she thought that muggles were just so much better and more simple and noble by birth", he said. Hermione raised her brows.

"I mean I should be flattered for my parents, but actually that feels a bit condescending", she said.

Neville blushed. It was true, he had also grown up believing that muggles were somehow loveable, but much more simple and somehow… innocent. He wondered why his grandmother had not mentioned the muggle-war.

"It's because light-wizards want to paint muggles as these wonderful people that you have to protect and that they can do no wrong. They're afraid that anti-muggle sentiment might win if they admit that muggles are just people and can be very dangerous even without magic", Blaise explained. 

"That _does_ sound a bit anti-muggle, Blaise", Neville said.

"Well I'm not anti-muggle. But I guess I am not entirely pro-muggle either. I think we should guard the wizarding world as strongly as possible. Have you heard about the internet? It's a muggle thing where they can send each other information so quickly that, if they somehow got wind of something magical happening, no mass-obliviation could make that go away", Blaise answered.

Gwyonarka scoffed. "Well, how do you propose we do that? _Guard as strongly as possible_ is something that sounds rehearsed."

"My grandmother says it's code for "separate muggle-borns from their families and go the Avalon-course", Neville said, looking at Blaise cautiously. 

"Oh pish. No. I don't think the Avalon course makes sense. But yeah. I think they were onto something with the changeling-route", he explained. 

"What is the _Avalon course_ and what _changeling-route_?", Hermione asked. She had read everything about the wizarding world that she could get her hands on in the school library. There had been nothing about that.

"It's what the queendom of Avalon used to do. Avalon has separated itself from the muggle world entirely. It's not like Hogwarts, that basically operates under overpowered notice-me-not charms and illusions for muggles. It's gone into the mist. You can't reach it with normal means, you have to be invited. Not unlike the fidelius-charm. They used to take in muggle-born babies and replaced them with squibs. Sometimes, if there were no squibs the same age, they gave them a homunculus and let the parents believe that it had died", Gwyonarka told Hermione. She covered her mouth in silent shock. 

"But that's so cruel! The poor parents!", Lavender whispered with tears in her eyes.

Gwyonarka nodded. "It was cruel."

"You are not telling the whole story!", Blaise exclaimed. "That was during a time where muggles still tortured muggle-born witches and wizards. In the middle ages, they were still _burned_. Even the children!", he said angrily stabbing his scrambled eggs.

"But muggles don't do this anymore!", Lavender told him hotly. 

"Most don't. But mum told me some still _exorcise_ them before they're even Hogwarts-age", Blaise answered. Lavender opened her mouth and closed it again. 

"My sister Padma knows a girl in year two who is a ward of the school because her parents were fundamentalist Christians. They wouldn't let her go to Hogwarts and she was well on her way to becoming an obscurus. It was terrible. They had to actually make a homunculus for her and make her parents believe she had died because they couldn't obliviate the whole community. She misses her brother terribly", Parvati, who had be silently observing up until now, added. 

Neville looked at her incredulously. "That is still done? I thought homunculi were dark magic", he asked Parvati. 

"They get special permissions in cases like hers", she said and shrugged. It did not seem like a big deal to her. She, personally, much preferred children who were with abusive muggles safely at Hogwarts. 

"But the solution can't be to _steal_ children away from their parents! And what about the witches and wizards who have to give away their squib-children?", Hermione asked. The thought of taking away any innocent baby from their likewise innocent parents did not sit right with her.

"Well, the witches and wizards usually swap and bond with the other child. It's not such an issue, since there's more muggle-born witches and wizards than squibs. They can basically take their pick and find a loving family for their squib babies. The main problem is the muggle-parents that _don't_ get a squib child", Blaise explained. "I don't think we should go into the mist. That's exaggerated. But I think that we should exchange muggle-borns for squibs whenever possible and I think that in the cases where it is not, keep a close look on the children in question. Telling them about the wizarding world when they are eleven is way too late. And if, just if, the muggles get spooked by their witch or wizard child, and treat them differently, I think one should exchange them for homunculi", Blaise stated. Hermione looked at him and did not know what to think. The problem was that her feelings and her logical thinking did not quite match. On the one hand, it felt _wrong_ to take away children from their parents. On the other hand, what Blaise said made _sense_. (For some reason, him disagreeing with everyone made him look so much more kissable to Hermione, but she wasn't going to think about that now. Besides, things with Fred were good.) 

"That's rubbish. _My_ parents did treat me differently than my sisters. But they still love me. What if someone decided that them trying to make me fit in more made them unfit parents? They used to burn my toys when I made them float, so that I knew not to do it in front of other people when I was little. They even locked me into the bathroom once when I had accidentally turned a dog into a puppy after it barked at me", Lavender said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Lavender, that's _horrible_!", Gwyonarka said, looking at her with concern. 

"No! Don't you see? They did it because, well, because they wanted me to be safe! They love me! I wouldn't want anyone to take me away from them!", Lavender screamed and stood up. "I'm going now. I, I need to do my homework", she said and turned around. 

"Lav! I didn't mean to upset you", Gwyonarka told her, looking at her with big puppy eyes. 

"I'm not mad at you, Gwyo. I'm just upset in general I guess", Lavender replied and continued on her way to the dorms. 

"I'm going after her", Parvati explained and followed.

"Shite", said Neville to no-one in particular. 

"I didn't mean to upset Lavender either", Blaise said, suddenly a bit timid.

"It's a difficult subject. I think it's more theoretical for us pure-bloods than for Lavender and Hermione", Neville reasoned. Hermione nodded. She was not in as much turmoil as Lavender, but still quite shaken. Not only by the concept of changelings, also because of Lavender. It seemed that she had a bit of a strange perspective of what good parenting was. Hermione herself knew that not everyone was as privileged as her, but hearing things like that from Lavender was awful. Neville and Harry at least knew when they were wronged. But Lavender had just accepted this as a fact of life.

"I need to learn when to shut my mouth", Blaise sighed.

"Well, Blaise, even if you might be right about that, this was a very interesting conversation for me. I didn't know about all that. Why is there nothing in all the books I read about this? It seems very important", Hermione said. 

"Hermione, Blaise is kind of right about some people considering this dangerous knowledge. Anti-muggle sentiment is still strong among some, and without context, these things can sound bad", Neville said. He knew so because _he_ had just heard things from this perspective from the first time and it _did_ sound bad. It made him reconsider some things his grandmother had thought him. It would be interesting to talk to his mum about it. 

Fred came over and gave Hermione an exaggerated bow.

"Will you accompany me to the common room, my lady? You seem in need of a distraction", he said, looking at Blaise so quickly that it was hardly noticeable. Blaise looked at them slightly grumpy as Hermione blushed and took Fred's hand.

"I think I'm going to our room, too. I want to see if Lav's okay", Gwyo said and joined Fred and Hermione on their way to the common room.

"Ugh. I can't stand Fred Weasley", Blaise told Neville. 

"Why not? He's a nice bloke, I think. Not like Ron", Neville said. 

"I guess. It's just. Well. I kind of like Hermione", Blaise admitted. "Oh boy. I'm turning into a Hufflepuff. Guess that's it. I'm leaving the dungeons. It was getting boring anyways without Draco and Harry", he added.

"Oh, having a room to yourself can't be so bad! I have to share with Ron Weasley. But, well that's a pity about Hermione. But can't you still like her? I mean, maybe Hermione even likes you back. My uncle Algy is married to a witch and a wizard. It happens", Neville said, trying to comfort his friend. Blaise looked at him scepticallly. 

  
  


Ron glared at his brother and his new _girlfriend_ Hermione Granger. They were laughing and sitting next to each other. Fred was playing with her hair. It was ridiculous. She was an arrogant little girl, holding her nose so high just because she was good at school. Such a know-it-all. And she just _had_ to be all lovey-dovey with his brother. Disgusting. What did he even see in her? Okay, she did have a nice face but that _hair_ and those, those little _dimples_ it was ridiculous. And it was obvious that she had changed her teeth. They had been way bigger two weeks ago. That was like cheating! His mum disapproved of permanent cosmetic magic. 

It would've been so much easier to ignore Hermione Granger if she wasn't bouncing her attention-seeking bushy hair all the time. It was distracting him from playing exploding snap. And now Fred was playing with her hair. It was a disgrace. Stupid, stupid girls. Why did they have to be so girly and ruin everything? And really, Hermione was being a, what was that word his mum had used for Bill's ex girlfriend? _Slag_ . She was being a _slag_ . Flirting with Zabini and Neville and probably _kissing_ Fred. And she was a first-year! Really, Fred was thirteen, he shouldn't be kissing first-years. 

"Ron? Ron? It's your turn", Dean practically yelled at Ron. 

"Yeah, no reason to yell", Ron grumbled. 

"Well, you've been staring at Fred and Granger for, I don't know, five minutes now", he said and giggled. 

Ron turned beet-red.

"Jealous, mate? I mean, I get it, Granger is cute. Not really my type, I like blondes, but still", he said, eying Justin.

"I'm not into Granger! That's disgusting!", Ron huffed, and played his card. It exploded.

  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Blaise said that he was in favour of exchanging muggle-born magical babies with squibs and homunculi. Lavender revealed that she had been abused by her muggle parents, but still loved them. Gwyonarka said something slightly insensitive. Neville is re-thinking his own positions on politics because of the argument.

"My cousin Ranbir is coming to Hogwarts next week! This is so cool, I haven't seen him in ages!", Parvati told Hermione excitedly. 

"That's brilliant, Parvati. But why now? Shouldn't he have come with us at the beginning of the year?", Hermione answered.

"Well, it was a bit complicated. You see, he doesn't have real legs. He wears a magical prosthesis sometimes, but it is very tiring and slightly painful to use. And Hogwarts is not exactly accommodating disabled students", Parvati explained. 

Hermione thought about it. She was able bodied and had been stuck  _ in _ the stairs twice already. Hogwarts was, if you thought about it, one giant obstacle. 

"Oh. Well that's awful, actually. So, what changed?", she asked her friend. 

"My aunt got a special permission for him to use a flying carpet. It's tailored to his needs. Not like one of those old-fashioned carpets for families. It's like, sporty. He could probably play quidditch with it if he wanted to", Parvati told her excitedly.

Gwyonarka grinned. "Harry is coming back to Hogwarts next week, too! I'm so, so happy!", she said, bouncing a bit, a habit she had picked up from Lavender. The two of them had made up and were cautiously circling each other again. They were a bit ridiculous to watch. On one hand, their friendship continued as it always did, on the other, Lavender was still carrying a torch for Gwyo, and the fierce girl did nothing to discourage her.

Hermione met Fred in the common room and they started holding hands again. She was quite content to do so, but sometimes she wished that Fred would be a little less chivalrous and a bit more reckless, like that one time that he had kissed her on the lips before saying good night. It had left Hermione feeling all tingly and for the first time in ages she had not been able to concentrate on her book when she went to bed. It had only been a very brief kiss, but it had left a taste of  _ Fred _ on her lips. Fred smelled like sun and a bit like that pine-soap that had been in the greeting bags for the first-years. And he tasted a bit sweet and a bit salty. 

"I'm still finishing my essay. Would you like to study together?", Fred asked her. He had always been a bit lazy about homework, but spending so much time with Hermione had showed him that nearly all knowledge could be applied to pranking.

Even history of magic, if you were inventive. 

"I'm done with homework. But I'd like to read, and you can continue", Hermione replied. She took a book out of her bag, ( _ The Intersections of Folklore And Magical History, by Ernest Slingsprout) _ stood up, and lay down next to Fred, using his leg as a pillow. 

He froze slightly, then he relaxed and started carding his left hand through her wild hair while desperately trying to focus on his essay. Hermione had little ink blotches on her fingers and a tiny ink-smudge on her lower lip. She was breathing deeply, and her warmth on his leg turned into heat. Fred felt slightly embarrassed and a bit helpless, but he decided that it wouldn't be very cool to let anyone know that he wasn't used to having his girlfriend cuddle up to him while he was doing homework. And besides, he really, really, didn't want her to stop doing this. He just felt that he had a lot more limbs than he knew where to put. And that his hands had no business getting so sweaty. 

Merlin, being thirteen was challenging. 

  
  


Ron accidentally snapped his quill. "Bollocks!", he cursed, ink covering his hand and dripping onto his already hopeless homework. 

He had, again, been distracted by his brother and a certain bookworm about to shamelessly canoodle in the middle of the common room. Okay, at the moment they were not doing much, but really, they were rubbing it in everyone's faces, their weird  _ relationship _ or whatever it was. Fred was  _ stroking her hair _ , for Godric's sake! 

It was a wonder that his fingers didn't get stuck in it. 

And what about George? Why wasn't he intervening? He should be there, making fun of them. They were usually inseparable. Running around school, blowing up loos and whatnot, finishing each other's sentences. Ron decided to go and look for George, abandoning his bad excuse for a potions-homework. 

  
  


George, meanwhile, was blowing up a loo with Lee Jordan. It was wonderful. They had asked Fred to participate, but he had declined because he hadn't felt like "smelling as if he had just blown up a loo". 

Seriously. To be so squeamish was unseemly for a prankster. Then again, he had come up with some seriously genius pranks lately. Turning post-owl feathers into tracking devices and stick quacking-charms on them, so that the victim felt like they were followed by a duck? Now that was some serious pranking. Filch had been so angry he had started throwing his cleaning supplies into the direction of the noise and had accidentally made Hagrid slip on the soapy floor. The groundkeeper had been carrying a batch of flobberworms for the owlery and it had been a glorious mess.

Lee and George were giving each other high-fives. They smelled like sewer-rats. 

"Lee, do you think we're getting predictable?", George asked his friend, as he searched the remains of the loo for the toilet seat, to keep it as a trophy.

"No, not at all", Lee replied happily. 

  
  


Albus Dumbledore was exhausted. Not only physically, as a man his age was used to. Emotionally drained. The stoic goblin was being a much bigger problem than he had anticipated. Albus knew that he wasn't infallible. Nobody was. Not even Merlin had been. But, realistically speaking, there was no one better suited to be the leader of the light side than him. And Brogdrak seemed to disagree. A lot of people would have, probably, disagreed with this statement. Minister Fudge, for example. But the man would still ask for Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's help whenever things got hard. And really, the man was not bright enough to be a threat. Brogdrak, on the other hand, was probably unaware of what damage he was doing to the bigger picture by sabotaging him. A parent's concern for the safety of their child was not to be underestimated, of course. It was the magic that had defeated Voldemort ten years ago. But Lilly Potter had believed in Albus Dumbledore, and more importantly, the cause. Brogdrak was hard to describe in terms of dark and light or good and evil. Even Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff seemed insufficient models of predicting this goblin's next move. Was he a bold Gryffindor? It had taken recklessness to take Quirinius Quirrel, possessed by non other than the Dark Lord formerly known as Tom Riddle by force. 

Was he a Ravenclaw? The man seemed scholarly. He had piercing, intelligent eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

Was he a Hufflepuff? Loyal to his son, so much so that he would start a war on his behalf. 

Or was he a Slytherin, like his son? Ambitious and cunning, cold. Maybe evil. 

The truth was, no matter what the goblin's intentions were, he was being a threat to the greater good. Because, like it or not, the greater good included a dead Harry Potter at some point. Preferably a well-prepared one. If Brogdrak was determined to fight Harry's battles for him, how was the boy supposed to become a hero? How would he be able to sacrifice his own life for the good of all wizarding kind if he was used to live a comfortably normal life, planning on being a researcher or goblin-accountant at Gringots? 

No. Brogdrak had to be removed from Harry's life as soon as possible. But how? The goblin had gone through the process of emergency adoption of an abused minor. Legally speaking, Harry was his son in all ways that counted. Only a non abusive blood relation or a godparent could overwrite that. And Harry's godfather was locked away in Askaban. Without a real trial. That had been a good move at the time. Growing up spoiled by his reckless godfather would not have shaped Harry's personality the right way. But now, it might have been worth rethinking the imprisonment of Sirius Black. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

The meeting had been an absolute nightmare. Albus Dumbledore had not only been stripped of his title as head of the wizengamot, he had been assigned a so-called "high inquisitor" named Dolores Umbrige, a very unpleasant woman. It was an interesting move from the wizengamot: it pleased the conservatives, since that woman was a raging bigot, as well as the goblins who were appeased by the notion that Dumbledore had gotten a ministry nanny. Little did they know that the witch in question was not only conservative but also so determinedly anti-goblin and any other magical creature that she would probably rather drink undiluted bubotubler pus than greet one in a classroom. 

Dumbledore vaguely remembered her from her schooldays. She had been a Gryffindor, one of those rare cases where courage to change things was not a good thing. Dolores Umbridge wanted reform. The wrong kind. It was clear to the headmaster that the woman was a serious threat, not to be underestimated, even though her weaponized femininity aimed to distract from her ambitions. 

Getting a trial for Sirius Black had been no challenge. All it took was alerting Amelia Bones of the injustice. The rest was even easier. The man was astoundingly coherent for someone who had spent so many years in Askaban. 

The scandal had shaken the wizarding world. The yellow press was undecided between painting Sirius Black as a wronged hero (and wronged, handsome nobleman) and a tainted suspect, a victim one didn't want to relate to (and didn't the man look frightening with his haunted face, features hollowed out by the horrors of Askaban). 

The problem with the public was that a lot of people didn't like to be reminded that there had been an error and that the wizarding world depended on a fallible judicial system to decide who deserved to be send to a place that many considered worse than death. And if it could happen to him, it could happen to anyone. The more comforting belief was that he somehow, someway had it coming. 

It wouldn't be easy to play the court of public opinion so well that they would decide that the man had the right and ability to take care of The Boy Who Lived.

An angle that would help to achieve that goal was to play into the anti-goblin sentiment that had strengthened since their meddling with wizards politics. If the public believed the worse of all goblins, convincing them that Brogdrak was an unfit custodian for Harry Potter would be easy. Dolores Umbridge might help at least in that regard. Even though people might find her unsympathetic and even villainous, her loud, public bigotry would set a tone for a slow and steady normalisation of more casual racism. But it had to be balanced carefully. The wizarding world could not afford a full out war with the goblins. 

  
  
  


Harry, meanwhile, was packing his bags and saying his goodbyes to his friends and family. Even though he had missed them, he was looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts. When he travelled there by floo, he was greeted by the familiar tingle of magic on his skin. Severus Snape's minimalist office held the familiar atmosphere of studious silence. 

It smelled of dried herbs and other potions ingredients. The head of house gave him a silent nod and a silent purgify. There was a respectful exchange of greetings and then the boy hurried out to find his friends.

When Harry arrived in the Slytherin dorms, Blaise was already there, grinning at him. 

"Harry! It's so good to finally have you back! This strange jock-version of you was a bit alarming", he said. Harry shuddered. 

"Yes, I rather prefer not being mind-controlled, thank you very much", he answered and, to his surprise, hugged his friend. Blaise turned red and cleared his throat. "Er, yes. Much better. Do you want to go and see the others? They're probably in the great hall, waiting for you", he said. "Did someone tell you about Ranbir?", Blaise asked.

"No. Who are they?", Harry wanted to know. "Parvati's cousin. He doesn't have legs, so he's on a flying carpet. It's kind of cool, he just flies everywhere and never gets lost on the stairs or anything. He's not been late to class even once", Blaise explained. Harry nodded. "What is he like? And which house is he in?", Harry asked. "He's a Hufflepuff. Doesn't really seem like one, though. I mean yes he is kind of a hard worker. But he's really quick-witted", Blaise said.

"I don't even know where that stereotype that they're some type of harmless, slow pushovers comes from. Last time we had charms with them, they seemed pretty normal to me. Maybe a bit nicer to each other than we are at Slytherin, but maybe that wouldn't hurt us either. Well, I mean, at least where no one can see. I don't want people to think they can play me", Harry added. 

"And that, dear friend, makes all the difference", Blaise said, grinning mischievously.

"Maybe we can use a friendly Hufflepuff in our friend group. To mellow us out. Gwyo wrote me about the whole changeling situation. Have you apologized to Lavender yet?", Harry asked. 

"Well, yeah. I mean I'm sorry I hurt her feelings", Blaise answered. 

"You were kind of an arse, mate", Harry remarked. Blaise raised a brow.

"How so?"

Harry sighed deeply. He didn't want to offend anyone, but Blaise could probably take it.

"Well, I only know what Gwyo wrote. But looks like you told two muggle-borns that purebloods should decide if they can stay with their own parents or not", Harry said.

"Wow, the way you said it really does make me look like an arse. That's not how I meant it at all. I just expressed my political opinion", Blaise said.

"And Lavender left in tears?", Harry asked.

"Well I think she's a bit more sensitive in that regard. It seems like her parents mistreat her sometimes", Blaise shrugged. Harry felt tired all of a sudden. Somehow this situation felt very personal. He would have never chosen to stay with the Dursleys, but the opinion that a person had to make important decisions for themselves was part of his cultural upbringing now. In goblin society, they people perceived you was so closely linked to the choices you made and the achievements you valued. Patronising behaviour was a deep offense and an insult. 

"Look, I don't know much about the changeling solution. My problem with it is that you don't seem to take into account what muggle borns have to say. Can't they speak for themselves?", Harry asked his friend. Blaise looked at him slightly shocked. "I… well I actually never thought of it like that. My mum told me about the changeling thing and it just sounded really well though out", he replied, his voice wavering. 

"Yeah but how would you like it if muggle borns came up with a great plan that involved taking purebloods away from their parents?" 

"But squib children would be given away in the changeling programme!"

"Given, not taken, that is a big difference. But even so, in Goblinia one would not give away a child because it is different."

"How would goblins handle it, then?"

"Let the child make the decision when it is able to."

"That's naive. No child would choose to be away from their parents, even if it is for their best."

"Yes. In goblin culture the notion that important decisions about a child's life are not their own is not entertained. If a child wants to do a small thing that they don't understand the consequences of, they are stopped. Like, let's say setting something on fire. Harming themselves or others. But with big decisions like which guardian they wish to be their parent, they'd be included. A lot of how we present ourselves to other people and what our priorities are, which choices and achievements identify us, we are proud of. I am proud of having chosen Brogdrak as my father. I'm proud of my language skills. I'm proud of my cooking. That is important to me. Gwyo is proud of having a mother like hers, or she would have chosen a different guardian as soon as she could articulate it. And she's proud of being a fighter."

"Oh. So cooking is more important to you than duelling?"

"Yes."

Blaise looked at Harry, absolutely baffled. Cooking had always been something that the house elves did and somehow a bit less important in general than being good at school or being good at duelling. But it somehow fit Harry. He did enjoy food. It was strange to think that someone he respected a lot valued very different things than him.

"Blaise, son of Violetta Zabini. Proud of my experimental magic and voluntary history essays", Blaise mumbled. 

"Interesting. I quite like it", he told Harry and then walked next to him in contemplative silence.

Ranbir sat next to his favourite cousin and Neville Longbottom. Coming to Hogwarts had been a success so far. He had tried on the talking head in the head headmaster's office. It had been a close match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but it had ended with him in black and yellow. The badgers had been warm and welcoming and Hufflepuff was very cozy. Professor Sprout had made a few accommodations for Ranbir, so that it was easier for him to use the bathroom. He had made fast friends with his roommates Tim and Will. Everyone had been curious about his carpet, and when he told them he had a second one and they could try it out if they liked, they thought it was  _ mental _ .

(A muggle born girl had gaped at him and whispered something about "Aladdin" to her friend, but was shut up with a scandalised shush by her.) 

The general consensus seemed to be that Ranbir was  _ cool _ . A strange feeling, since a lot of adult wizards had the tendency to treat him like he was some sort of puppy. Apparently, as a disabled wizard, you were somehow  _ cute _ , Merlin knows why. He was often treated as if he was five, not eleven. As soon as Ranbir was of age, he planned on getting tattoos and a pet falcon. And a beard. No one would call someone with a beard cute, would they?

Neville smiled at Ranbir and handed him a roll. Neville was cute in a good way. His fluffy hair and his round face, his big eyes. He had such a kind face, even though he often looked a bit preoccupied. But his smile was so nice and warm. Ranbir sighed happily. 

  
  
  



	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: graphic description of Azkaban, trauma, self-harm and stimming. You can skip this chapter if you just want to know what happens next. It's just about what Sirius feels when he gets out of prison.

Sirius Black was sleeping in his cell, but his canine hearing woke him up. Someone, no, several someones, were approaching this part of Azkaban. He morphed into a human. It got more difficult every time. The numbness made him feel like it wasn't worth it, like being human was a difficult task with close to no gain. He remembered that he was supposed to hold on to his humanity, but sometimes it felt more like a rule someone else had told him about, a distant echo. Sirius was not very good at listening to authorities that he didn't respect. And self-respect was scarce in Azkaban, especially among those that were brought up to hate everything they were. The few years of joy, of feeling like he belonged, had lost all shape and meaning after the dementors had eaten the feelings attached to these memories, and Sirius' broken mind went in circles, trying to convince him that life had always been like this. A never-ending punishment for being Sirius Black. 

The footsteps approached his cell.

"Mr. Sirius Black. You have been found not guilty of the crime that brought you here. We will escort you back into the wizarding world and you shall receive an apology by the minister of magic", a man said with a monotonous voice. The door opened. 

Sirius stared at them, blankly. 

"You are free now", the other man added, somewhat more cheerful. 

Sirius started dry-heaving.

The witch in the plain robes tried to keep his hair out of his face. "I am a healer, mister Black. Please let me help you", she said. 

"You don't understand. It is my fault. It's my fault they died", he raved, his eyes unfocused. He tried to stand upright, but trembled. 

"We have to get him to saint Mungo's as quickly as possible. He needs a mind healer. I just hope there's enough of him left to help him still", the healer muttered, side-eying the ministry official. They walked out. The the aggressive, thick quiet of silencing spells filled the stale air. Sirius saw a few inmates screaming, their faces distorted in agony over their grave errors, reliving their worst moments, a parody of muggle-hell. 

The first step outside was nearly painful. He had to close his eyes, unaccustomed to the light.

When Sirius saw the sky again for the first time in more than ten years, his breath hitched. It was overwhelming. Even though the horizon was far from blue, and thick, grey clouds dulled the sight, it was just so  _ wide _ . For so many years, his world had consisted of the same walls, the same cracks in the ceiling, the same dents in the chair. A hole, frequented only by nightmares. Sirius had rubbed his hands on the rough walls, desperate for any kind of friction that would disrupt the intensity of his boredom, a boredom so deep that it rivaled the pain the dementors inflicted on his tortured soul. Sometimes, when the stimulus was too little to keep Sirius screaming mind entertained enough to not dissolve completely, he inflicted pain on himself, a temporary release for the only emotions left in him: pain, shame, guilt and anger. Being a dog made his thoughts less complicated and dulled them. But even in dog form, Sirius couldn't keep from scratching thr floors. 

Now there was fresh air, and Merlin, so much sky. It was overwhelming. Sirius hands automatically reached for a wall that wasn't there, to scratch it and release the overflow of emotion. Nothing but the arm of the healer. Sirius accidentally grabbed her too hard and she winced. He apologised as sincerely as he could, while still leaning on her too much, so frail, his muscles weak to the point of trembling. 

As soon as they had left the no-apparition zone, they were at saint Mungo's. The lights were even brighter there, but somehow more bearable than the open sky. The room that the healer led him to was down a corridor, and several people openly gaped at him. People. Normal people, going about their normal business, getting healed from ordinary injuries. Sirius felt naked somehow. Exposed as a strange, broken, alien  _ thing _ to be gawked at.

The room he was led into was reassuringly small and simple. There was a plant and a window, a chair and a sofa, a bed. And an open door to a bathroom with a tub in it. Everything looked clean and somehow welcoming. Sirius sat down on the bed. There was a basket with fresh fruit next to it. He picked up an apple and cupped it with both hands. It had been so long since he had seen and smelled a whole apple. He took a bite. His teeth left red marks on it, an effect of his neglected routines. He had been a well-groomed wizard once. Now it had been so long since he had taken a bath or clipped his toenails. There was no hygiene at Azkaban. Only some built-in scourgefy-spells that did nothing for that dusty feeling on the skin. 

"Can I have some time to myself?", Sirius asked the healer politely. "I'd like to use the bathroom", he added apologetically, as if she could decide to send him back to Azkaban if he asked for too much. 

The healer nodded and asked when she could come back to give him some medical attention. Sirius settled for two hours of alone time with a sponge and a toothbrush and lotion. 

"Can I have a wand?", Sirius asked. 

The witch looked at him cautiously. "I'm sorry, mister Black. Your wand has been returned to your family vault. You'll probably have to register it again", she answered. 

"Oh. Well, is there some other way I could shave?", he asked her. She hesitated. "Shall I…?", the healer said, gesticulating into the general direction of his face.

"Yes please", Sirius replied. 

She whispered a grooming and combing spell. Sirius thanked her. She nodded and left. He took a deep breath and walked over to the tub, filling it with fragrant water. Then he looked in the mirror and couldn't help but stare into his own empty, bloodshot eyes. He looked a fright. Uncombed and so haggardly thin that his eyes seemed to bulge out. He took the toothbrush and brushed until his gums bled. Then he took off all his clothes and got into the scorching water. Sirius closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and lay down into the water. His hair took its time to really soak through, a strange build-up from Azkaban preventing it from behaving like it should. Sirius shampooed and conditioned it twice until it felt clean. Then he brushed his wet hair until it felt like his own again. While doing so, he couldn't stop crying, sobbing even. What about the process of getting clean was so sad, he couldn't say. 

After he had moisturized and snipped and clipped his whole body, even trimmed his eyebrows a bit, he put on pyjamas and slipped under the fresh linnen covers of the bed. He grabbed the warm cup of tea on the nightstand, it had a stasis charm on it to keep the tea at the exact right temperature. Then he started crying again and didn't stop until the healers came back.

  
  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter - more coming soon.

"I do want to be with Harry. But are you sure that's what he wants? I'm… Albus, I'm a mess", Sirius said, tiredness surrounding his thoughts like thick fog. He bit his nails, a habit from Askaban that he couldn't quite shake. 

Albus Dumbledore looked at him gravely. 

"I'm afraid he is not safe from evil influences where he is right now. He might not think so. But I have to say, he reminds me of your brother Regulus. He seems wise beyond his years, and I'm afraid it's because he had to grow up too fast. He doesn't sound like a normal child, nor do his Slytherin friends. I'm afraid he's half on his way to become an evil wizard", he said, staring earnestly behind his half-moon spectacles. 

"Are you saying his guardian mistreats him?", Sirius asked, suddenly with an edge to his voice, tense, as if ready to fight an invisible intruder. 

Dumbledore gave him a pitying look and a sad sigh. "I did what I could to arrange for better custody for the boy, but alas… After my name was slandered by the goblins, my position is not what it once was", he explained. "Sirius, it's what James and Lily would have wanted. You owe it to them to give raising poor Harry your best try", he insisted. 

Sirius looked at him, a dull expression on his face. 

"I want to do right by Harry. I just… I still have these episodes where I can't quite remember where I am or what I'm doing. I can barely remember to feed myself. I can't even properly take care of a plant lately. Sometimes I want to move, but my body just won't comply. Yesterday I turned into padfoot without meaning to. I don't want Harry to be the one who has to take care of me", he explained. 

Albus Dumbledore nodded sympathetically. 

"Well, there are worse things in the world for a young man than taking some responsibility. I'm sure this will be good for both of you", he answered.

Sirius nodded, a forlorn expression on his face. He absentmindedly scratched his arm and didn't stop until Albus gently stopped his hand mid-movement

Harry was send to the headmasters office. He didn't like it one bit. The new "high inquisitor" did nothing to ease his worries about the mad headmaster. Supervision was not the right word for what Professor Umbridge was doing. It felt more like blatant manipulation. The best thing about it was that Albus Dumbledore also seemed to be very annoyed by the irritating woman. Two manipulative meddlers stuffed into one headmaster's office. Harry took a deep breath and entered after his head of house, who hadn't spoken a word on the way up from the dungeons after telling Harry that they were equally clueless about the reason for Harry being summoned. 

They climbed the moving stairs, their feet unconsciously finding the same rhythm.

Dumbledore was sitting in his usual chair, behind him, Dolores Umbridge nursed a cup of tea, one that seemed to be the exact same pale-pink shade of her painted nails. She gave Severus Snape a smile that might have been an attempt at flirting, but Harry quickly dismissed that absurd thought. That was not how adults wizards and witches flirted, probably. He didn't really know. His head of house did not react with a smile, just a cordial nod, though. 

Harry was trying to look at anything but Dumbledore's eyes, after his last encounter, he wasn't taking chances. 

"Good afternoon, dear Harry and Severus. Please take a seat", he said, gesturing to the two low chairs in front of his desk. Harry wondered if the chairs were like that to make people more insecure. Draco had told him that his father gave other people lower and less comfortable chairs to make them self-conscious and get the upper hand in business deals. Draco thought it was quite clever, Harry thought it a bit undignified to stoop so low. 

Harry mumbled something that could have been taken for a greeting only with lots of goodwill. Professor Umbridge tutted audibly. 

"Dear Harry", the headmaster said, trying to subtly to position himself in Harry's line of sight. "As you might have gathered from the news, Sirius Black, your godfather, has been freed from prison, since his innocence has been proven."

Harry nodded. 

Severus Snape glared at Dumbledore.

The headmaster cleared his throat. Maybe the time with Umbridge had taken a toll on him.

"Now, Sirius Black, though in poor health, is legally still your godfather and appointed guardian. Brogdrak has taken over your guardianship because of the, ahem, abuse clause. Since there was no next of kin, he adopted you. But since being a godfather is considered magical kinship, now that Sirius Black is cleared of all charges, you, Harry, are to be his magically adopted son and a Black yourself", Dumbledore said, talking slightly faster than usual because he did not care to be interrupted. Harry gaped at him.

"No!", he yelled. "No, you can't take me away from my father! You just can't!", he said, his panicked voice high-pitched. For the first time since therapy, he felt his magic burn through his fingers. It smelled of scorched wood. A low rumble went through the room and every glass-sirface in the room melted into a red-hot substance. Dumbledore hastily took off his glasses, while Umbridge was shrieking because her jewelry was burning a hole into her cardigan. 

"Who are you?", Severus Snape bellowed through the smoke.

"I'm Harry, son of Brogdrak. I bow to no-one but the gods."

"That's right, Harry. And you will be Brogdrak's son, no matter what. You bow to no-one but the gods. Not no-one but the ministry. We'll figure this out", he snarled, while banishing the flames that started to die down. 

Albus Dumbledore had regained his composure. 

"Now, now, Severus. It will not do to give the boy false hope. The ministry was glad to have found a more suitable guardian and the paperwork is all but done. The boy who lived, being raised by goblins? It just doesn't seem right", he sighed.

Umbridge, who had managed to get rid of her burned cardigan, sneered. "Poor boy. Raised by creatures. It's not dignified", she added. "Well, growing up with these animals, it's no wonder he can't control his impulses. I'm relieved that this will soon be rectified. The ministry has fully backed Sirius Black's guardianship of you, young mister Potter."

"That's not my name! My name is Brogdrak's son!", Harry snarled.

"You will say your proper goodbyes to your former guardian and his son after the end-of-the-year ceremony. Then you will spend the first summer break with your new parent in your new home. It will be for the best, Harry", Dumbledore added, obviously trying to sound as grandfatherly and calm as possible, ignoring the remains of his glasses that had melted into the table. 

Severus half-carried Harry to his dorm. He had never seen him like this, so fragile looking and _broken_. He wanted to say something soothing, but he couldn't quite find the words. The boy always seemed so strong and self-assured. Now he looked limp, worse than the puppet that Dumbledore had made out of him when he had invaded his mind. 

Blaise Zabini was waiting for Harry, probably skipping history of magic for it, but Severus didn't have half the mind to scold him for it. 

When Blaise laid eyes on Harry, his face fell.

"Harry! What happened?", he asked, slightly panicked.

Harry croaked something inarticulate and then looked pleadingly at Severus. 

"Professor, could you please explain? I have to write a letter to my father immediately", Harry said, and, without waiting for an answer, sat down at his desk to start furiously scribbling, grabbing his quill so hard that the feather nearly broke off. 

"You may use the floo in my office, Brogdrak's son", Severus said. Harry nodded and took a few deep breaths. 

"Would you like to accompany us to my office, Zabini?, Severus asked the boy, not only because he hoped that it would help Harry, also out of pity for his friend who didn't know what was going on. 

He explained the situation to Zabini on the way. When he called Brogdrak, Harry visibly pulled himself together. 

  
  



	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of suicide, mildly sexist and abelist language that is typical for young teenagers.

"No, no, no, no! It's too unfair! They can't do that to him!", Hermione ranted. Fred was sitting on the floor, he had given up on trying to soothe her. He just patiently waited for her to calm down, so that they could start plotting. 

"That wretched old man! Why doesn't anyone stop him?! Why doesn't the ministry do something?", Hermione said in a shrill voice, apparently not calming down at all.

"I think they did. They gave us professor Dumb-bitch", Fred remarked.

Hermione didn't even bother to tell him off for that unimaginative nickname.

"That disgusting racist can Evanesco herself for all I care!"

Fred looked at her a bit shocked. He had never heard Hermione, or anyone for that matter, say something quite so cruel and seemingly meaning it.

"Well we should prank Dumbledore into oblivion for what he did to Harry. And while we're at it we can see to the ministry nanny he was assigned", Fred said. He stood up and took Hermione's hand. "Come on, love, less pacing, more plotting."

"A prank won't do. We have to make it count", Hermione said and pulled out parchment and a quill.

"Never underestimate the power of pranking", Fred said and grinned at her.

  
  


"I don't know what to do, Gwyo", Harry confessed. 

"Well, I, for one, would probably choose war. But I don't know, Harry. You're usually more diplomatic than I am", she answered and handed him a chocolate frog. Stress eating worked wonders with her best friend, it always had. 

"If dad starts a war on my behalf, I'd feel bad about it", Harry said through his teeth.

"Well, you don't have to, you know. The wizarding world had it coming anyways. You know, one of these days I might start a war over politics with Umbridge. I haven't decided how to handle her yet", Gwyo said.

"Yeah, I'd actually thought you would've killed or at least maimed her by now. Seems like the wizarding world is rubbing off on you."

Gwyonarka snorted. "Because they are oh so peaceful and kind? Didn't you pay attention in history class? I mean at home. Not that propaganda hogwash they teach at Hogwarts."

Harry giggled a bit, which Gwyo took as a good sign. 

"I don't even know what to do anymore. Dumbledore has made his move and I feel like he's playing chess with someone else. Like I'm just a black or white pawn or something."

"Don't worry, you're at least a knight, if not a queen", Gwyo said.

"Well you can call me your highness from afar, then. I could probably survive being adopted by this stranger, though I heard mixed things about the Blacks. But I don't know what to do without dad. Or my brother. Or Donark. Or you, for that matter", he said.

"Well, you'd at least see me at school. And you should talk to your mysterious godfather. Maybe he isn't all that bad and can figure something out with Brogdrak", Gwyo said with much more cheer than she actually felt at the thought of helping Harry leave Goblinia behind. 

"I asked professor Snape about him. They went to school together. He sounds like an absolute tosser."

Gwyonarka scrunched her nose. 

"In that case, let's get ready for war. We can't let you be with some tosser that won't treat you right. I'll be on your side, even if it means I'll have to leave our Hogwarts friends behind. I don't imagine you'll be continuing at Hogwarts if we have a war about you going on", she sighed and also bit the head off a chocolate frog. 

"We're probably not going to see our friends anymore, are we?", Harry said in a small voice.

"Unlikely."

They sat together in contemplative silence.

"I should write to Sirius Black", Harry said.

  
  


"Do you think he'll come home?", Blarko asked Brogdrak.

"I can't say, Blarko. But if he doesn't, it's not because he wants to abandon us. It would be to avoid a war", Brogdrak said solemnly.

"I'd rather go to war, dad", Blarko said.

"Me too", Brogdrak answered. 

  
  


Neville shredded the pixie-moss into a wet brown-green sludgy substance. He had added panther-daffodils and spores. It had taken a bit of creativity and transfiguration, but Blaise had helped. 

With quiet determination, he made his way to the headmasters office. 

The message went directly on the floor. He dipped his brush into the mixture.

"A HEADMASTER SHOULD MASTER HIS BIG HEAD, BUT STARTED A WAR WITH GOBLINS INSTEAD", he wrote.

It took longer than expected, and Neville was anxiously listening for Filch the whole time. 

Miraculously, he managed to get it done and went back to bed in time, just before miss Norris' meow echoed across the halls.

  
  
  


"A bit premature, Nev, but I appreciate the gesture", Harry sighed after word had gotten out that half the staff had tried to get rid of a moss-graffiti that called out the headmaster for starting a war.

"How did you know it was me?", Neville said, red in the face.

"Oh, please. Who else is good enough at herbology, tame enough to write something like this, and invested enough to actually do it?", Hermione said, while Lavender and Parvati giggled and Ranbir looked around slightly confused. Blaise was sitting next to Neville and twiddled his thumbs innocuously.

"Harry is actually thinking about giving Sirius Black a chance", Gwyonarka said.

Everyone looked stunned, except Ranbir, who looked utterly confused still.

"I actually wrote him a letter. I should get an answer any day now", Harry said. Lavender looked at him incredulously.

"So, you're going to leave your family behind?"

Harry looked at her with angry sadness.

"Ouch!", Lavender screamed when Parvati's foot hit her shin under the table.

The owls arrived after the unusually quiet breakfast. And there it was, a big, white owl carrying a letter addressed to Harry Brogdrak's son-Potter. Harry took it as a good sign that Sirius Black had put his full name on the envelope, and not dropped the Brogdrak's son, as all the ministry mail did. 

_ Dear Harry. _

_ We don't know each other. You don't remember me, but I remember you as a child. You were just learning to say your first words, and you were very fond of a stuffed hippogriff you used to chew on. And I have never forgotten you, through all these years in Azkaban. Had I known about how bad your caretakers treated you, I would've added it to the list of failures that I replayed in my head over and over. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I couldn't be there for you when you needed me. I understand that you'd like to get to know me better. With permission from headmaster Dumbledore, we could meet in Hogsmeade this weekend.  _

_ Let me know if you like the idea. _

_ Hoping to meet soon, _

_ Sirius  _

"What does it say? Does he sound like a complete disaster? Let me see!", Gwyonarka demanded and grabbed the letter. Harry rolled his eyes at her and let her have it.

"Stuffed Hippogriff… wow, seems as if you were a cute baby. Yes, that's shite about the Dursleys, I agree with him. Sounds like an ok bloke to me.  _ With permission from headmaster Dumbledore?  _ Hah! Not likely. Seems like he's on the chess players side", Gwyo mumbled.

"Or he's also a chess-piece. I'll have to find out. Now I'll just have to get permission from mister evil mastermind himself. I'm so not looking forward to that."

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
